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A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 



A 
CRUSADER OF FRANCE 



THE LETTERS OF 
CAPTAIN FERDINAND BELMONT 

OF THE CHASSEURS ALPINS 

(August 2, 1914— December 28, 1915) 

Teansiated feom the French bt 
G. FREDERIC LEES 



With a Foreword by 
HENRY BORDEAUX 



NEW YORK 
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 

681 Fifth Avenue 






Copyright, 1917 
By E. p. button & COMPANY 



DEC 21 1917 

Printed in the U. S. A. 

©CI.A479626 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

Foreword 7 

I. Before the Fight 37 

II. The Vosges 61 

III. The Somme 89 

IV. Flanders 129 

V. Leisure Hours 167 

VI. The Valley of the Fecht 189 

VII. Metzeral 243 

VIII. The Lingekopf 261 

IX. At the Corcieux Camp 299 

X. The Last Stage 319 

Epilogue 363 

Mentions in Army Orders 365 



FOEEWORD 



FOREWORD 

I 

A PEASANT of Savoy heard of the death of the second 
of his sons, killed in the Vosges, as he was setting 
forth to the fields for the autumn ploughing. The 
oxen were yoked in front of the house. The post- 
man handed him the letter hearing the heading of 
the Prefecture. He went into the house to fetch 
his spectacles, read in the presence of his wife, who, 
anxious, had followed him, and in that of the neigh- 
bours, who already knew the news, and then, hand- 
ing the paper to the companion of his life of labour, 
said simply : 

"God found them ready." 

He added slowly: 

"My poor wife! . . ." 

And he went off to his ploughing. 

God found them ready. It seems indeed as though 
these young people were prepared. Among the 
already voluminous evidence which comes from 
them — letters, notebooks, disclosures — it is not rare 
to detect a sort of joyous detachment which raises 
them from the earth. They feel that they have 
received a call, and they offer themselves like the 
daughter of Jephthah, who ran towards her father 

7 



8 FOREWORD 

and was in no way astonished at the sacrifice de- 
manded of her. So, unswervingly, they go forth 
to war and rise on high, like those trees with smooth, 
slender boles which, towering in the forest in search 
of light, seem unattached to the soil, whereas more 
ancient trunks hold on desperately by multitudinous 
roots. 

Sergeant Leo Latil, of Aix-en-Provence (1890- 
1915), who was killed in the Champagne offensive,^ 
expresses astonishment at the state of sublime 
peace and often joy in which he finds himself. 
"Sacrifices will be light indeed," he wrote to his 
kindred, ''if we gain a right glorious victory and 
more light for souls, . . . " His will, drawn before 
his departure, ends with this earnest request: 
"Pray for France, work for France, raise her up!'* 

Long before the war there was being effected in 
these young men, or at any rate among the flower 
of them, a simplification of life. Ambition did not 
tempt them. They were not to be turned aside by 
an ordinary lot, because they placed above every- 
thing else that interior discipline which utilizes 
contingencies by accepting them, instead of revolt- 
ing against them, or trying to overcome them. 
Young Frenchmen who reached the age of twenty 
in 1890, were the too unconcerned prey of every 
intellectual ferment. Those of 1900 showed 
themselves to be more practical, to have a greater 
leaning toward realities. Those of 1910, like those 
birds which, detecting the coming storm, stretch 
out their wings in order to dash into it the better, 
hardened themselves physically and morally, exer- 

iSee the Correspondent, January 25, 1916. 



FOREWORD 9 

cised their muscles and forged, for current use, 
either athletic stoicism or religious acceptance. 

Maurice Ernst (1889-1914), the son of the savant 
and enthusiastic art critic, Alfred Ernst, on reach- 
ing the age to choose a career, deliberately turned 
towards the provinces — he who was a deracine, born 
of an Alsatian father and a Savoyard mother, and 
educated first at Paris, then at Dijon. Paris did 
not attract him — that Paris which all the younger 
novelists represent to us as the great delusion and 
the cause of so many misled lives. His mother's 
native province retained him because there he could 
more easily be himself. *'I shall go and settle 
down at Chambery, or in another town of the same 
character, ' ' he wrote, ' ' because I feel attracted by the 
life of a provincial barrister — a life which is often 
not very brilliant, doubtless, but which enables one 
to remain in daily contact with the veritable element 
in which our national moral temperament is formed. 
It is very different to the life, in spite of everything 
very artificial, which people are almost fatally bound 
to lead at Paris, or in a very big town." He was 
especially anxious to live his inner, his religious life 
profoundly. Is not this a new tendency in quite 
young men? Pride and ambition, the usual levers 
of youth, have been transformed into inward dis- 
cipline and the sense of fellowship. Maurice Ernst, 
after two years' military service, aspired to the life 
of an officer, which would enable him to command 
men, but first of all to govern himself; and it was 
in this state of mind that the war found him. At 
peace with himself, he set out, rejoicing that the 
war, provoked by the enemy, was an opportunity 



10 FOREWORD 

for serving a splendid human cause. His letters 
from the front to his mother are quite on a level 
with the great tragedy. He was calm and ready. * ' I 
cannot say whether we shall see each other again," 
he dared to write, so surrounded by death did he 
feel. "At all events, I am living splendid hours at 
the present time, even before I have fought. To 
have the command of sixty men for whom one is 
responsible unto death, and whose minds are sus- 
tained and movements guided by the clearness 
of an order, is a rare joy. But it is a still greater 
joy to feel that one may 'be called upon to die on the 
-first day perhaps. That gives one a feeling of solemn 
and gentle serenity at the same time which must, if 
one escapes, leave its mark on one's whole life." His 
presentiment did not mislead him: he was killed 
at Ethe, in Belgium, on the morning of August 22, 
1914, by a bullet in the head, as he was triumphantly 
entering the village.^ From that open, luminous 
brain, thoughts must have flown straight on high. 

The letters of Captain Belmont, which appear in 
the following pages, reveal, I believe, the most 
complete example of this jeunesse, precociously 
ripened long before the war, like a vine exposed to 
the sun, and for which the war will have been the 
vintage-time. They will be read for many a long 
year, as were read and are still the letters com- 
posing le Becit d'une smur, or as the Journal and 
Correspondence of Maurice and Eugenie de Guerin, 
for their sincerity, their familiar and provincial 
flavour, their profound intimacy, their feeling for 

^Bulletin de VEcole Saint-Frangois de Sales de Dijon, 
April i, 1916. 



FOREWORD 11 

nature, their religious fervour. But ttere is some- 
thing new in their accent. Death straddles over 
them, as the arch of a bridge over running water. 
Within the curve a fragment of heaven is reflected 
and the water shivers. 

Under the title of captain we formerly imagined 
a man of thirty — a man of experience, accustomed 
to command. Belmont was a captain of twenty- 
four, who, when war broke out, was a sub-lieutenant 
of the reserve. Lyons — ''the industrial and mystic 
town," as Alphonse Daudet called it — ^was his birth- 
place, but his family, shortly after he was bom, 
settled at Grenoble, where his father is manager of an 
important bank. The horizon of the Dauphine Alps 
was the horizon of his childhood, that which trained 
his eyes, that which he constantly evokes when 
seeking comparisons for some beautiful vision of 
autumn or spring. And yet Lyons left upon him 
that very particular impress with which the ancient 
city of two rivers marks its inhabitants. The 
fogs which hang over the Saone and the Rhone 
compel them, it seems, to live more within them- 
selves. Silence reigns on the streets, sadness and 
coldness are on people's faces. But, should the 
bells of Fourvieres ring, their features light up, as 
though these bells were announcing great news. 
On clear evenings one can distinguish far in the 
distance the chain of Mont Blanc, and people do not 
fail to seek for that indistinct sinuous line which 
floats like lace knotted to the flowers of the sunset. 
The Lyons section of the Alpine Club is one of the 
most numerous and most daring. The business-men, 
manufacturers and clerks of the city who on six 



12 FOREWORD 

days of the week stick close to their somnolent 
quays and dark offices, swarm on Sunday on the 
slopes of the Alps, hasten to the mountains as to 
a lover's meeting-place. "Who has written more 
finely of this than an inhabitant of Lyons, Theodore 
Camus, in his posthumous book: De la Montague au 
Desert? 

The mountains, in Ferdinand Belmont's letters, 
are faithful friends, the recollection of whom he 
treasures. He loves to recall the ascensions he 
made with his brother Jean in the Chartreuse Chain, 
at Belledonne, and on all his beloved summits of 
the Dauphine Alps. As a connoisseur, he evokes 
the quality of the air one breathes there, the play 
of light and shade which follow one on the other, 
and especially the solitude — the serenity of that soli- 
tude. He belonged to one of those numerous 
families of which one must have been an actual 
member to know all the joy, animation and expan- 
sion a childhood can contain, and all the majesty, 
equity, divine order and human tenderness a father 
and mother represent. He who did not wish to 
regret anything in the course of his moral ascension 
had a heavy heart when he thought of his home 
in the country and everybody there: his parents, 
sis brothers and a sister. His eldest brother, 
£mile, two or three years his senior, died at seven- 
teen from the effects of an attack of scarlatina, 
contracted when he was eleven. The few notes 
which this youth left behind show him to have been 
a precocious emulator of Adele Kamm, who culti- 
vated pain like a garden, in which she grew the joy 
of immolation. ''Suffering came from day to day," 



FOREWORD 13 

he wrote, when kept to his bed by illness. "I 
strove hard to accept it, and now I am happy to 
have suffered." And again: ''Of all the ways of 
serving God, illness is the one which allows the least 
consolation, but the little one is able to receive is 
only of greater worth." As soon as he was afflicted 
he succeeded in ceasing to ask for a return of health, 
and contented himself with the life of the soul. 
There can be no doubt that he enabled his brother 
Ferdinand — surprised to see him so resigned — to 
penetrate further into this life. Without knowing it, 
he was preparing him for future trial, and the younger 
brother in his turn was to experience purification 
through daily acceptance. 

At an early date Ferdinand showed a strong liking 
for the medical profession. After brilliant studies, 
he anticipated the call to the army, and at eighteen 
joined the 14th Infantry Battalion, with which he 
did his two years service, having no inclination 
for duty in an army medical corps. He left his 
battalion a sub-lieutenant of the reserve and took 
up his abode at Lyons to attend the lectures on medi- 
cine. At twenty-one years of age he came out 
second in the competitive examination for surgical 
assistants. At twenty-three he was an assistant 
dresser. And it was from this post that the mobiliza- 
tion took him. 

''This somewhat reserved and melancholy, but most 
Christian, most reflective, and kindly young man," 
writes to me one of his best friends, the Abbe, now 
Lieutenant Gonnet, "possessed a most engaging 
disposition. It seemed as though his gaze ever 
remained fixed on those who had understood its 



14 FOREWORD 

charm. As regards myself, I feel it ever bent 
upon me, as on the last occasion I saw him, at 
Gerardmer, in August, 1915, when he came (him- 
self wounded) to look after me and bring me deli- 
cacies, as a mother would have done. He must have 
been somewhat like that in the case of his men — 
kindly in the exercise of authority, but knowing how 
to be master of them, knowing how to elevate their 
souls to the height his own had risen, at any rate 
on great occasions. And this will indeed be one 
of the established facts of this war among the thou- 
sand and one forms authority has taken — as though 
all materials can be used to fashion it, on con- 
dition they are supple and tractable in the hands 
of the Maker. . . . The change which the war 
seems to me to have brought about in him most clearly 
is a simplification of the soul and its tendencies. 
He had attained so great a unity of life and mental 
absorption that God alone could bring that unity 
to its natural centre, by attracting it to Him. I did 
not always know him thus, but inspired with a love 
for the ideal and great things, and striving a little 
in his dull life as a student to bring to it that 
which then seemed to him so difficult to find and 
which the ordeal of war placed within his reach daily, 
until the end. He speaks a good deal of that roman- 
ticism which attracted so many young men, to 
whom the war brought natural satisfaction. He 
hardly confessed it, but I believe that he also had 
very romantic tendencies. Only he accepted the 
ordeal with all its tribulations, whereas many others 
found it severe and wearisome to the flesh, and sought 
to lighten it." 



FOREWORD 15 

At the present moment I am endeavouring above 
all to find the Ferdinand Belmont of pre-war days: 
the being whom the war was to bring to life again 
in his letters. I imagine him to have been some- 
what uncommunicative, doubtless, but not sad. 
He was one of those taciturn people who delight 
in inward joys. The long illness of his eldest 
brother, his own disposition, a precocious percep- 
tion of the seriousness of life, led, without making 
him gloomy, to meditative habits. More luminous 
are the spots made by the sun in the underwood. 
The laughter of rather serious young men is all 
the more cheerful and loud. In the refuges on the 
Alps and at his home in the country Ferdinand 
Belmont's laughter must thus have burst forth, 
surprising and charming. The romanticism of 
youth arises the more often from the difficulty of 
finding its balance: the restless mind is dissatisfied 
with everything, the unapp eased heart believes that 
it is misunderstood. In the case of the twenty-year- 
old Belmont there is hesitation between contempla- 
tion and action. He recognized his vocation at a 
very early date, walked straight along his path; 
and yet, on the other hand, was he anxious over the 
result? He was never so happy as when pausing on 
his path, regarding nature, and allowing his thoughts 
to wa,nder. The war was to bestow harmony upon 
him. 

Of his younger brothers, Jean, the nearest in 
age to himself, was his companion when on excur- 
sions. Without ambition, modest, charitable, cheer- 
ful and frank, this tall robust youth was an enthu- 
siastic mountaineer. A preparatory pupil at the 



16 FOREWORD 

I 

Grenoble Polyteelmic Institute, and momentarily- 
excused from military service at the time of the out- 
break of war, he offered his services and was incor- 
porated on August 11 in the 22nd Infantry Regi- 
ment. A fortnight later he asked to leave for the 
front, on the plea that he was in fine training and 
on account of his physical vigour. He was killed 
in his first fight, on August 29, 1914, at the Pass 
of Anozel, near Saint-Die. The day before he had 
by chance met his brother Ferdinand, during the re- 
treat. Jean Belmont was devoid of all complexity, 
was as ingenuous as a child, and totally indifferent 
to risk. On the point of departure, he said to his 
mother, quite calmly: "I have nothing to fear. The 
worst that can happen to me is to be killed, and to 
die for a noble cause when one is young is a great 
blessing. ' ' 

The next brother, Joseph, was more impres- 
sionable and earnest. A boarder at BoUengo, in 
Italy, he was unable to accustom himself to separa- 
tion from his family. Then, suddenly, he got over 
his troubles; he had discovered his path in life. 
At the close of his year's study of philosophy he 
entered the Issy seminary. When war was de- 
clared he was devoting himself at Mens to the care 
of a holiday colony of little boys. Mobilized in 
December (1914), he was incorporated in the 55th 
Infantry Regiment and placed in the firing line in the 
month of May, with the 173rd Regiment. He went 
through the severe engagement of Eparges and the 
Bois de la Gruerie, was promoted corporal, and 
never ceased to sustain those surrounding him by his 
good humour and high spirits, although it cost him 



FOREWORD 17 

dear to lead an existence so different from the one he 
had desired. On July 2 he was killed by a bullet 
and fell without a cry. 

"In one's life at the front," he wrote to his 
parents, "one must live the present without thinking 
of the future. To be nearer danger and death is to 
be nearer God, and therefore why pity us? Put 
your trust in God! everything happens according 
to His will, and it is ever for the -best. My only 
duty is to do what I ought to do, whatever it may 
be and to the end. This life in proximity with 
death has many beautiful sides to it. I hope to 
find tranquillity in it, as so many heroes have found, 
when I am absolutely convinced that death is 
happiness, suffering a merit, danger and trial a 
splendid lesson in energy, which will cast glory over 
my whole life if I know how to render it sufficiently 
fruitful." 

Ferdinand survived Joseph Belmont by a few 
months. A captain, decorated with the Legion of 
Honour, and mentioned three times in army orders, 
he was killed on December 28, 1915, at the Hart- 
mannsweilerkopf. 

These three brothers, "God found them ready" 
— as the Savoyard peasant said. At each fresh 
blow the father of these three young heroes might 
have repeated those words, as beautiful and as 
strong as a verse of the Bible, but each time with 
more bitter sorrow. The first who left did it so 
simply. The second already belonged to God. But 
can such a loss as the third — ^the eldest, the most 
richly endowed, the most complete, the surest heir 



18 FOREWORD 

of a tradition to be transmitted, the one who inspired 
no more love than the others, but on whom they 
counted for that continuance of the family which is 
man's terrestrial immortality — leave sufficient courage 
to continue the task begun? Yes indeed, and even 
a fourth child, Maxime, has filled the vacant place in 
the army. There are also hearts which sorrow always 
finds ready, because divine hope inhabits them. 

This long war, now violent, now less intense, has 
revealed and especially will reveal many writers, 
through the tragic scenes presented to the eyes, 
through the habit of meditation which long hours in 
the trenches have created or fortified, through the 
need or the desire to correspond with loved ones at 
home and give them an accurate idea either of the 
outer or the inner life. But many among them will 
not be witnesses of their celebrity, will never know 
how hearts have thrilled under their action as strings 
vibrate under the bow. The letters of Ferdinand Bel- 
mont reveal that gift of seeing, that art of seizing the 
essential features of a scene or picture, whilst neglect- 
ing or rejecting the useless and the superfluous, 
that colour at once warm and discreet, the perfection 
of which makes a Fromentin. Who can forget, having 
read Tin J^te dans le Sahara, the supple gait of that 
barefooted Arab woman whom we see coming from the 
remoteness of the horizon, as in biblical times, bearing 
an amphora on her shoulder, or that Eastern evening 
in front of the tent, so full of peace that the very 
silence can be heard ? And yet it is not that — a vision 
of war — ^which will be most sought for in this cor- 
respondence. No, it is not that which wiU bring Cap- 



FOREWORD 19 

tain Belmont faithful and transmissible friendships, 
but indeed the work of moral chasing to which he in- 
cessantly devoted himself. There is in him both a poet 
and a philosopher — a poet and a philosopher in the 
manner of a De Vigny, whose thought was tinged with 
delicate penetration and sorrow — and there is in him 
above all a believer who succeeds in casting his actions, 
his strength, his soul into faith, as into a broad- 
bosomed river which he allows to carry him away. 
What matter life and death, provided one believes, is 
the cry to which he rallies, and which he will make 
the subject of his reflections, not through intellectual 
taste but because of his desire to attain moral im- 
provement. Is not one of Mme. de Stael's finest say- 
ings as follows: "The object of life is not happiness 
but perfection"? — words, however, which hardly ap- 
ply to him. 

This abandonment of his will to the grace of God 
and the orders of his superior officers was to bring 
him peace of mind in warfare. Before leaving for 
the front, during a few days' preparation in the green 
mountains of Tarentaise, he experienced almost a feel- 
ing of revolt or at least surprise at the thought that 
people were fighting and dying when the sky was so 
clear and the mountains so beautiful, and he felt the 
need of picturing to himself what the baptism of fire 
must be like. A strange fear seized him : the fear that 
he might not be sufficiently courageous, sufficiently 
worthy of his command, his post, the great duty en- 
trusted to him. But once there all anxiety disap' 
peared. 

Soon there came the departure for the frontier. 
On the eve of the first engagements he heard his 



20 FOREWOED 

infantrymen singing "the tender and sentimental 
songs of their native districts," just like the sailors 
of Pierre Loti in Mon frere Yves, huddled one against 
the other in the fore of their ship. They were under 
the influence of the same mental distress, the same 
nostalgia, but the storm which awaited those young 
soldiers far exceeded in tragedy the violence of natu- 
ral elements. 

The beginning was terrible, and yet, among the 
worst vicissitudes, the beauty of the Vosges brought 
him friendly consolation. Depicting the shades of 
evening gathering on the devastated ground and 
ruined villages, he employs, on seeing the shadows 
creep over the land, which the sun seems "to caress 
as a shepherd caresses a sick sheep," expressions 
full of a tenderness quite after the manner of 
Fromentin. 

Even the nearness of the enemy to the outposts 
does not deter him from tasting the sweetness of those 
Virgilian nights per arnica silentia lunce — ^which are 
disturbed, however, by the shriek of shells and the 
crash when they burst. 

Then, sent still farther away, lost on the in- 
tensive plains of Artois, amidst an ocean of men, 
he is filled with home-sickness. Where can we 
find more touching terms — whether in Lamartine 
dreaming of Meilly, or in Fromentin 's Dominique, 
when he seeks comfort for his wounded heart in 
thoughts of his native place — than in Belmont's 
evocation of "the luminous twilights , amongst the 
great oaks?" But here his accent is more poignant; 
there is no desire to return to his early protected 
years, no love sickness, but the distress of a man 



FOREWORD 21 

abandoned far from everything he loves and in the 
neighbourhood of death. This distress, against which 
Ferdinand Belmont opposes especially his religious 
faith, and which he eventually conquers, continued 
for several weeks. It gives the letters dated the 
end of September and October, 1914, the pathos of 
interior anguish, of transitory doubt and discour- 
agement. When he struggles against too tender 
recollections which assail him, he is alone, and no 
one save the members of his family have received his 
confidences. He had comrades, but no friends. He 
experienced the solitude of the heart. But divine 
help never fails the one who calls for it. We can 
feel that Belmont gradually cast off his depressing 
sadness, attained serenity and inner peace, before 
mounting a step still higher, the step which heroes or 
saints have taken, the one leading to that complete 
acceptance which can no longer be reached by human 
miseries. 

"I shall not love thee lesg; nay, perhaps more, 
Tor yielding to thy nature ..." 

said Byron's Sardanapalus. Ferdinand Belmont 
is not diminished in our eyes through having passed 
through these sloughs of sadness, and perhaps we 
are glad that, face to face with sacrifice, he experi- 
enced these hesitations and looked thus backwards. 
In this way he is nearer ordinary mortals, who feel 
such depression too often and turn from those 
who have never felt it, as one turns from a stranger. 
Nevertheless, he was too accustomed to observe him- 
self not to mistrust his emotions. Gradually he began 
to check himself in these evocations, or turned them 



22 FOREWORD 

into a philosophic channel : meditations on the vanity 
of life and the pettiness of man, blown about like a 
leaf by the storm. 

He felt the attraction and proclaimed the advan- 
tage of abandoning himself to destiny, or rather to 
Providence, but he had not yet reached the state 
of "wishing for nothing, desiring nothing, wisely 
accepting whatever happens" — the formula which 
gradually became the rule of his life and the observ- 
ance of which was to bring him appeasement and 
confidence. This detachment was to take place 
progressively in his soul and by means of faith. 
He was coming nearer and nearer to a condition 
of acceptance, the true one, which indistinctly 
receives from such a heart both sorrow and joy, 
peace and war. That acceptance began to appear 
to him as the lever which would facilitate all his 
acts. 

On All Saints' Day, instituted for mourning, he 
learnt of the death of his brother Jean, no further 
news of him had been received. His sorrow 
manifested itself by a eulogy of suffering, which, 
since it is one of the conditions of life, we ought to 
love. Have not all great souls glorified it? Can 
the happiness of one dear to us cause us in this way 
so much sorrow? Does it not look as though Grod 
had wished to take back his brother's pure soul 
"before it was soiled by the ugliness and darkness 
of this world?" Death, surrounding him, had 
begun to enter his soul. One would imagine that 
he was preparing to receive its visit. He was no 
longer not only not terrified but not even disquieted 
by it. Death was the vault under which he had 



FOREWORD 23 

indeed to pass and which to him was a gateway of 
light. From that moment he lived intimately with 
it. Henceforth when he speaks of it it is in friendly 
terms. 

"When New Year's Day prompted him to look back 
he wished to abandon himself as best he could to the 
will of God, to the whirlwind which would lay him 
down "dead or living in some quiet spot." 

After a few weeks' rest at Gerardmer, he came 
to the conclusion that the ''school of comfort" 
was no good. He felt ashamed to be in a place of 
safety when other battalions were fighting at the 
Hartmannsweilerkopf . * ' He that escheweth not small 
faults," says the Imitation, ''little by little shall 
slide into greater." And for that reason his desire 
was that his men, who were descending to a state of 
mediocrity, after he had seen them so great, should be 
kept in working order. 

Then, in this correspondence, written without 
studied refinement, there suddenly appears a 
rhythmical quality reminding one of Chateaubriand 
— reflections concerning "the silent verities which 
slumber at the bottom of. our souls. ' ' Elsewhere he 
says: "What matter the most formidable shocks 
of this world, since this world will pass away and 
passes away each day?" And we call to mind the 
words of Bossuet on the ephemeral nature of the 
world. 

Ferdinand Belmont soon returned to the life of 
danger which he preferred to the dull and mediocre 
life in rest-billets, not perhaps through warlike 
ardour, although he proved himself on all occasions 
to be a remarkable leader, at once prudent and 



24 FOREWORD 

bold, but because lie could breathe more freely on 
the elevated plateaus of the soul, where ordinary 
considerations no longer ruled. Already, however, 
he had no further need of the proximity of danger 
to remain on those high and salubrious plateaus. 
More and more was he getting rid of all worldly am- 
bition. He was seized with the idea that humility 
was the virtue par excellence — the one which liber- 
ates as from all artifice, all complications, all inter- 
ested motives. At bottom, he envied the simple 
soldiers who had not to bother their heads over the 
question whether they were followed ; he began to feel 
that he was not born to command, and was quite sure 
that at the end of the war he would be able to re- 
turn to his former life without an effort. But the art 
of command springs from personal ascendancy, and 
how is it possible for this personal ascendancy not 
to shine from such superiority, from such a de- 
tachment from his own person? Men are often 
psychologists without knowing it. They could not 
tell you the reasons why they are attached to such- 
and-such a chief, yet they feel their strength 
mysteriously. 

Indifferent to danger, attentive merely to his 
duty and his soul, Belmont saw the arrival of 
Easter. It was in a wood, in the rain, that he 
celebrated the feast of the Resurrection and Hope. 
And yet it brought him profound peace, as it did to 
those peasants who, in Tolstoi's Resurrection, came up 
to each other, saying: "Christ has risen," and by 
that news, repeated for nearly nineteen hundred 
years, receive physically an impression of comfort and 
plenitude. 



FOEEWOED 25 

The work of detachment went on in him more and 
more. What importance can a few years of life more 
or less have? Nature itself, whose charm he de- 
lighted in so much, whose seasons, colour and diver- 
sity he understood so well, became powerless to retain 
him. In vain did spring multiply its smile and graces 
around him. He knew the falsehood and vanity of 
them. 

He now surpassed — even to the point of stoicism 
and disdain of life — Christian humility and accept- 
ance, just as he had surpassed his regret of home, 
even to the extent of his nostalgia sadness. And 
similarly he found in faith the strength to resist the 
metaphysical temptation, as he had resisted the 
absorption of human tendernesses. One can follow, in 
Ferdinand Belmont's correspondence, the path which 
led him to inner perfection. It was a straight 
and ascending alley which the overhanging branches 
seemed at times to obstruct, but these had onljr 
to be turned aside to perceive once more the 
invariable direction. No, life was not contempt- 
ible and war was not a divine game. For man 
is not lost in nature, which assumes a meaning 
only through him, and however short may be 
the time at his disposal, it is sufficient for 
him to perceive in himself and outside himself a sub- 
ordination of effects to causes, an order, a harmony, 
a God. 

This too great philosophic detachment in the case 
of Ferdinand Belmont was to be purified in the flame 
of charity and divine love, and this was the last phase 
of his too brief life. 

The months which followed were hard ones for his 



26 FOREWORD 

battalion. At each attack he was astonished to find 
himself living in the midst of so many dead. He 
was astonished at it, and already he felt no further 
joy at the fact. He had seen death so many times, 
and it appeared to him to be so trifling a thing, 
especially when it came suddenly, as in the case of 
his comrade, Lieutenant Capdepont. Never does he 
make an allusion, in a tone of reproach, to the length 
or hardships of the war. He attributed to it the 
mysterious and fatal character accorded it by 
Joseph de Maistre, whose thoughts in this respect have 
so often been distorted. 

When he heard of the death of his brother Joseph, 
he consoled his parents (afflicted for the second time) 
with supreme kindness; but one can divine that all 
in that family thought on similar lines and turned 
their sorrow to God, as a sick man his sores to the 
sun. Beforehand, he tried to console them for his 
own loss, for already he no longer counted on return- 
ing. Just as formerly he thought of the country- 
house where the family assembled in the holidays, so 
he thought of the eternal home where there are no 
more absent ones. 

In July, 1915, came the attack on the Lingekoff, 
When the material work of shattering the enemy's 
defences was considered to be accomplished, man 
then entered on the scene. Scientific forces having 
been let loose, what do they encounter! What 
determines in the end advance or retreat? Man, 
always man. The artillery, we are assured, has de- 
stroyed everything in the opposing trenches, and yet 
the last rampart is a human breast. The grandeur 
of that poor morsel of humanity whom Ferdinand 



FOREWOED 27 

Belmont saw lost amidst the forces of the universe, 
whom he pitied and loved, whilst considering the 
vanity of his enterprizes, he now began to recognize. 
He sings the praises of individual merit in words 
which will doubtless be often quoted, for some day 
the testimony of so many obscure heroes must indeed 
be collected. 

Et exultavit Tiumiles. Never will humble folk 
have better merited glorification than in this war, 
in which they have carried endurance to its furthest 
limits. It would seem as though the very stages of 
the war mark in the case of Ferdinand Belmont 
the stages of his inner development. After the 
great offering of the beginning, he was able, in the 
trenches, to meditate on human condition. The 
repeated attacks in the Vosges forced, as it were, 
his mind to send forth thoughts more fully charged 
with pity, comprehension, humility — thoughts more 
strained towards death and God. He ceased to 
deny the importance of will, and repeated almost 
textually Pasteur's words: "no effort is ever lost." 
It is not the result that matters, but the act of the 
being to obtain it. Our first step towards liberty 
should be to free ourselves from needs, desires, re- 
grets, doubts — all the chains we ourselves have 
forged, in order to find ourselves again as we ought 
to be, not inert, contemplative beings, after the 
manner of Brahmins, but living creatures, con- 
scious of our relativity and submissive to an acting 
God. 

The preoccupations of the soul were so powerful 
in the case of Ferdinand Belmont that they seem 



28 FOREWOED 

in his correspondence to assume pre-eminence over the 
events of the war. 

We must read, in his letters, his account of the at- 
tack of August 20, and how a leader should assume 
his responsibilities. He possessed the calmness and 
character of a leader. His ascendancy over his men 
came from a friendship they felt he had for them. 
And how could the most difficult circumstances get 
the better of him, he who was now always a little 
above human events ? 

On August 28, 1915, he left on furlough, and saw 
his parents and native district for the last time. One 
can imagine that he knew it ; for in the letters which 
followed his return he shows neither emotion noi* 
regret. He had passed beyond the zone of recollec- 
tion. The beauty of September days still inspired 
him with magnificent descriptions, which will be 
quoted side by side with those of Fromentin and 
Loti. "Who will describe better the splendour of the 
Vosges, the autumn, the evenings on ' ' the hills clothed 
in shadow, where the red trees sing among the pines ? ' ' 
And he cast his thoughts back to the autumn in 
Dauphiny. Ah! that last autumn; one can imagine 
that his life was exalted in it like the colours of 
the woods. He breathed in the beauty of it, felt its 
caresses like a supreme testimony of the sweetness of 
the days. 

Thus nature ceased to be the impassible £va of 
Alfred de Vigny : it became the radiant hymn of per- 
manent creation. 

On October 19 he heard that he was decorated with 
the Legion of Honour. He was made a knight of 
the order on. November 4, in clear, cool weather, in 



FOREWORD 29 

front of his company assembled under the pines of 
the Malvenwald. Certain that the members of his 
family would receive a little joy from it, in the 
midst of their mourning, he related the ceremony in 
detail. For he was still able to distribute happi- 
ness from a distance, though he might no longer be 
able to receive any which satisfied him. His narrative 
is worthy of the anthologies: never has the meaning 
of humble devotion been expressed in language more 
impregnated with human sympathy and brotherly 
tenderness. One can foresee in it the ascent of a 
soul which is nearing the summit. Ferdinand Bel- 
mont had only two more months to live, and already 
he perceived the back of things, the eternal and unique 
justice. 

His men — those Chasseurs whose portrait, at once 
realistic and sympathetic, he has drawn here and there 
in his letters, and who knew how to choose the path 
of divine humility — also wished, on the evening of 
the ceremony, to consecrate him as a knight, and came 
to serenade him. 

Meanwhile, autumn was drawing to a close, and 
likewise his life. The valleys of the Vosges continued 
to delight him with the oncoming of winter. He 
loved the healthy physical exercise of excursions in 
his extensive sector. He accustomed himself to the 
company of the rude winds. The nights were 
fairy-like. He sings of their beauty like one of 
the great French poets in prose, and his descriptions 
of landscape ever conclude with philosophical 
reflections, as though the sensible forms which made 
his soul vibrate disappeared after having tuned it like 
a lyre. 



30 FOREWORD 

"What unknown presentiment, on December 3, im- 
pelled him to write a letter home which contains, 
almost negligently, the expression of his last wishes ? 

His last letter is dated December 27, and is ad- 
dressed to his young brother Maxime, who was also 
soon to leave home. It completes his testament. He 
bequeathes to his brother the belief which had sup- 
ported him. He seizes hold of one of Claude Ber- 
nard's formulas to introduce it in another domain. 
Claude Bernard said: "If I knew a truth thoroughly, 
I should know everything." Ferdinand Belmont de- 
clares: **He who has performed, a single minute of 
his life, an act of sincere faith, or offered up a fervent 
prayer, has conquered more truth than the most 
laborious genius." 

Goethe, when dying, called for more light — ^more 
light. The little captain of mountain infantry, on the 
eve of death, called for still more faith. 

On the 25th, Christmas Day, a 150 m.m. shell fell 
on his shelter. It was the warning. But was it neces- 
sary ? On the 28th he was fatally wounded and died 
towards evening. 

II 

Ferdinand Belmont's letters came, during seven- 
teen months, almost daily, to revive, console and 
fortify a family whence four sons in succession had 
set out'. Out of the four, three have not returned. 
For the third time, and this time near New Year's 
Day, which, formerly — before the war — was the time 
for joyous meetings, the family experienced a cessa- 
tion of news, a period of waiting, anxiety, agony, and 



FOEEWORD 31 

certainty. In how many French homes has this not 
been the case? 

And because it has been thus in other French 
homes, these letters are published. Scruples one can 
easily understand caused long hesitation, Read and 
reread, copied and recopied, Ferdinand Belmont's 
correspondence was known to a small circle of friends. 
These friends have succeeded in overcoming these 
very delicate doubts, the strongest of which was in- 
spired by the modesty of the deceased, who was 
strongly against all seeking for fame or notoriety. 
They pointed out to the family that a happy action 
on souls might be exercised by means of this pub- 
lication, and that this action, beyond a restricted 
circle, might reach many sorrowful hearts, many 
uncertain minds, and many whose courage was fail- 
ing, with the result that these would be raised 
up, convinced, inspirited, turned into believers and 
heroes. 

Out of the war must come, in fact, a deeper and 
simpler fellowship. Nothing brings people so close 
together as a community of sorrow. The women 
in mourning who meet at the cemetery see black 
veils — ^no longer dresses. They have no need to 
know each others' names to know each other. Their 
wounded souls call to each other and accept assist- 
ance. 

Ferdinand Belmont was a born writer. He pos- 
sessed the gift of expressing his sensibility in front 
of nature and of transforming his visions of the 
outer world into inward analyses and meditations. 
He had feeling for form and ideas. His unlaboured 
phrases are full of rhythm. I have already placed 



32 FOREWORD 

his work side by side with the Journal and Corre- 
spondence of Maurice and Eugenie de Guerin; and 
I do not believe I am mistaken in affirming that he 
will be read in the same way, loved, and faithfully 
placed on that shelf of one's library which is reserved 
for books one returns to when one has received some 
deep wound from life and one seeks a discreet confi- 
dant who has experienced suffering. 

He will especially be read by those who are 
anxious seekers after religious truth. "If I believed 
one truth thoroughly, I should believe them all," 
was his transposition of one of Claude Bernard's 
dicta. In the immense chain of interrogations which 
arise at every phenomenon and every movement 
in life, like those coveys of partridges which rise 
from the thickets at a horse's step, truths lead to- 
wards the Truth, In his Nouvelle Idole, M. de 
Curel compares the minds which seek for it to the 
stalks of water-lilies attracted by the light of the sun 
which reaches them through the liquid mass; they 
lengthen, stretch themselves out until they reach the 
surface of the water, where their flowers blossom. 
But how is it that the unique truth does not re- 
descend to man? How is it that God is fixed 
outside our conception and is absent from the in- 
explicable universe? How is it that, having allowed 
human relativeness to be foreseen, if not conceived, 
He avoids man after awakening his desire? Can 
he exist, if He is not revealed? Revealed, how is it 
He is not the bread of life which, alone with death, 
is equally distributed among all? The proximity of 
death seems to have communicated to Ferdinand 
Belmont the gift of drawing closer to this jpresent 



FOREWORD 33 

God, this God revealed in function by whoever ac- 
complishes human actions. 

He himself had gradually loosened the bonds which 
held him to the earth, and when God called him, He 
found him free. 

HENRY BORDEAUX. 

February-May, 1916. 



BEFORE THE FIGHT 



A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

Chapter I 

BEFORE THE FIGHT 

Annecy, 
August 4. 

After our parting at Voreppe on Sunday, I left 
for Lyons. Perrache railway station presented an 
uncommon spectacle owing to the bustle, excitement 
and overcrowding. 

To describe the journey as a pleasant trip would 
be exaggeration; but one must take things as they 
come, and put up with the means in requisition 
(thirty-two men in each compartment — horses 
lengthwise, eight), whereby everybody is crammed in 
pell-mell without distinction of either rank or class, 
and with half the men more or less intoxicated. 
But, after all, everything went off fairly well. I 
should never have believed that the general mobili- 
zation would have been accomplished with so much 
order and relative rapidity. "When one thinks of 
what that represents as regards movements and 
traffic and the preparation of trains, which had to 
be formed at a day's notice, one can really only be 

37 



38 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

amazed at the manner in which the staff of the P.L.M. 
gets through its work. From this point of view 
progress has indeed been made since 1870 ! 

Nor should I ever have believed there was such 
enthusiasm, such unanimous and admirable confi- 
dence in all these men, many of whom are married 
and fathers, and who generously go forth, without 
a complaint, without a murmur. And all along 
our way war songs are heard — the Marseillaise and 
the Chant du Depart; with shouting from one train 
to another at the crossings or in the stations. The 
whole way alongside the line women and children 
cheer and wave their handkerchiefs, while very often 
weeping. 

Seeing such enthusiasm and generosity in those who 
suffer most from war, one would be very vile if one 
did not set out heartily when, as in my own case, 
everything is for the best. 

At half past eight we reached Annecy, where they 
received me with open arms. This morning the re- 
servists, who continue to arrive incessantly, were 
fitted out with clothes. Here, again, everything went 
off in splendid order and high spirits. Apart from 
that, I know nothing of the war, about what has oc- 
curred or what will happen. I believe we shall remain 
here for a few days before the battalion of reserve 
is ready to go into the field. 

Annecy, 
August 5. 

To-day, at noon, we accompanied the 11th Bat- 
talion to the departure platform — an active battalion 



BEFORE THE FIGHT 39 

brought to an eJffiective of 1,000 men by means of the 
three classes last liberated. 

You cannot conceive the ovation — ^thoroughly jus- 
tified nevertheless — which the chasseurs received as 
they marched, headed by the band, to the railway 
station, nor the bearing of these gallant fellows half 
of whom were still, three or four days ago, in their 
fields or workshops, and who have so rapidly and 
so courageously equipped themselves that you could 
hardly distinguish the reservists from the regulars. 
But, above all, I do not think that I have ever 
seen anything so touching as that departure in per- 
fect order, without a complaint, without useless 
swaggering, with the band playing the Chant du 
Depart, and the officers* wives, admirably courageous, 
watching the train moving off without giving way, 
repressing their tears so as not to affect the men 
uselessly; and the major leaning out of a carriage 
window with his hand to his heret to give a parting 
salute to Savoy. And all this done so simply, so 
courageously, without ostentation or bravado. I do 
not know what this war holds in reserve for us, but 
how can we fail to hope much when it opens like 
this? 

As to ourselves, the 51st Battalion, entirely re- 
servists, we shall, I believe, have to leave for Aisne 
the day after to-morrow, our mission until fresh orders 
being to defend our sector of the Italian frontier — 
that is to say, the sector from Petit Saint Bernard 
to Izeran. 

But, in view of Italy's neutrality, it is quite prob- 
able that we shall receive the orders. . . . More- 
over, we shall not care to remain in those 



40 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

exquisite Alpine valleys, peacefully tasting their 
delights, when there is good work to be done else- 
where. 

Once more, to-day, I had the impression that there 
was not much merit in my leaving — I who am not yet, 
thank God, indispensable to anybody — ^when I see 
fathers resolutely setting out leaving their wives and 
children in the hands of God. 

If I did not leave you behind, I should set out with- 
out the slightest regret. 

Macot, 
August 7. 

"We left Annecy last night and alighted at Aime, 
between Moutiers and Bourg-Saint Maurice. Two 
companies of the 51st remained at Aime; the other 
two, including my own, are in quarters three kilo- 
meters higher up, at Macot, a most picturesque little 
Savoyard village, with the houses in rows one above 
the other on the hill-side, amidst clumps of walnut 
trees. 

This calls to mind many pleasant recollections of 
former manoeuvres; and here, in this quiet spot, 
it is almost difficult to believe that such important 
events are happening on the northern and eastern 
frontiers. 

At any rate everything is going on all right : news 
of the war is favourable; but the Germans are of 
inconceivable savagery and brutality. They have 
indeed merited what is happening to them: the 
indignant anger and state of defence of all Europe 
against such infamies; and I sincerely hope that 



BEFORE THE FIGHT 41 

if it is God who permits war, it will be to use it as 
an instrument of justice. Then . . . 

August 8. 

Here, in the semi-solitude of these mountains, where 
news reaches us tardily, everybody retains the same 
calm confidence, the same generous and resolute cool- 
ness, and all these fine fellows who were dragged 
yesterday from their wives' hearths and occupations 
are preparing in no half-hearted manner and without 
unprofitable excitement, to defend the honour of the 
country. 

One must live through hours like these to be able 
to comprehend that ' ' Patrie " is no vain word, to feel 
in its generous beauty the grandeur of the army, 
which rises superior to all littleness or routine, and 
to estimate men at their true value. It is good to be 
a Frenchman at this hour; it is above all good to see 
what devotion, energy, sacrifice and honour spring 
from the depths of this nation which has been re- 
proached so gratuitously abroad with being boastful, 
heedless and frivolous. 

This is indeed, at one and the same time, the mili- 
tary servitude and grandeur of which Vigny wrote, 
and there is no paradox in uniting these two words, 
apparently so contradictory. 

As to what is happening on our frontiers, we receive 
but tardy echoes. One must be over there, on the 
rounded tops of the Vosges, or in the armoured turrets 
of fortresses, to realize to the full the bloody majesty 
of the drama enacted at this moment. 

Are we going to join them, those who are fighting 



42 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

so bravely over there, or shall we be left here in an- 
ticipation of a surprise? "We are getting ready, and 
we wait. 

However, the situation is charming: a mountain- 
ous country with the valley of the Isere, whose waters 
flow almost towards us. Apart from the empty 
houses and the military aspect of the village, every- 
thing here has its normal appearance. The weather 
is fine. The verdant slopes, broken up with 
chequered fields and sparse clumps of trees, rise har- 
moniously to the sombre pines, and then to the 
serrated rocky summits flecked with late snows. The 
villages, hamlets- or isolated barns add to this quiet 
landscape the grey reflection of their slate roofs, and 
this peaceful existence, within a picturesque frame- 
work bathed with limpid light, gives me, after days 
of wild excitement in the big towns, the impression 
of a dream. The instruction of the reservists is 
carried out as methodically and quietly as that of 
young recruits in barracks, but with this difference 
— that it proceeds quietly and that we touch lightly 
on details. Our task is facilitated by the men's 
admirable willingness. 

As regards officers, my company possesses but a lieu- 
tenant of reserve and myself, and to command 250 
men, when you are hardly accustomed to it, is not a 
sinecure. Especially would it be no light responsi- 
bility to have to lead these in battle. Fortunately, the 
neighbouring company, the 7th, is commanded by 
Captain Rousse, who is an excellent officer, a veritable 
trainer of men, and who assists us liberally with Ms 
advice and experience. 



BEFORE THE FIGHT 43 

Macot, 
August 10. 

To find myself here once more, in this very valley 
of Tarentaise, where I spent so many unforgettable 
hours, I seem to live over again the days of four 
years ago, when I came here for the first time with 
the happy unconcern of the soldier at manoeuvres; 
and I doubly enjoy the easy existence, at once for 
the present and for all the delightful past which it 
awakens. 

And yet, what an oppressive mystery enveils the 
weeks and months which await us! But we are so 
quickly seized by remembrance, even after long 
absences, that we live in our former states of mind 
even when everything differs so completely around 
us. And personally I am convinced that this will 
be so until the day when everything is really new; 
and that until our effective entry on campaign I shall 
live as I live to-day, without either fear or care as 
regards the mysterious morrow and only eager to 
enjoy without mental reservation these luminous days 
of the Alps. 

During the dramatic hours through which the 
country is passing, how egoistic all this is! How 
much wiser, more virile and more generous it would 
be to meditate on the grandeur of the history which is 
folding itself, to perfect oneself in one's own task 
and give oneself up entirely to the past, however 
insignificant it may be, which each has to play in his 
turn! But what is one to do? To bewail the dis- 
tress of the ravaged countryside or ruined homes? 
To waste one's strength in vain speeches concerning 



44 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

events, the fragmentary accounts of which reach us? 
What is the good of that ? Is it necessary to add one- 
self, with one's frivolous imagination and pusillani- 
mous heart, to reality, the simplicity and grandeur 
of which are sufficient in themselves? 

To live each succeeding minute without desiring 
anything else, cither more or less — to know how to 
yield to everything which comes — to adapt oneself to 
every situation, even the most novel or unexpected — 
and to trouble ourselves no longer over what will 
perhaps take place or will not come to pass! . . . 
After all, everything is by the grace of God! — 
and never has it been more opportune to say so than 
now, when the events which guide us are so mighty 
and so formidable that they boundlessly exceed 
both our desires and our regrets. "We are in the 
hands of God and feel it more than ever; we are 
BO little capable of passing judgment on events! 
The greatest and most useful lesson of the history 
of our world is precisely the one which proves to 
us that we are without discernment for judging the 
present. The divine lessons of the past ought to 
enable us to regard the future without emotion. I 
fancy that war is one of God's great means of teach- 
ing a lesson to the nations and moulding their 
destinies. 

We continue to lead the life of chasseurs at 
manoeuvres. These reservists are fine fellows. Most 
of them leave behind them families devoid of re- 
sources, and yet they set out gallantly. I admire 
their honest and confident faces, their somewhat 
dragging step which would advance, despite the 
inevitable fatigue of these early 'days of marching, 



BEFORE THE FIGHT 45 

and tlie quiet good-natured smile with which they 
speak of the ''excursion train for Berlin." France 
is a mine of resource; she possesses above all mar- 
vellous moral and mental faculties, strengthened by 
the news of early successes — faculties which are never 
uncombined with this good nature, this spontaneous 
and somewhat jocular fancy, that picturesque em- 
bellishment of the Parisian street-boy who is never 
lacking in Gallic wit. 

I hope, moreover, that we shall have an oppor- 
tunity of seeing all these fine men at work, and it 
would indeed be a pity not to take part, in our turn, 
at the ball. 

For the time being we are gradually getting into 
training under the direction of Captain Rousse. 
Every morning, about five o'clock, we set out for a 
march which is progressively lengthened. 

Macot, 
August 12. 

Is it possible that troops like ours and men like 
ourselves are at this very moment on the battle- 
field, in the midst of the thunder and hail of shells 
and bullets? This appears so improbable, when 
you are living as we are amidst the quietude and 
repose of this Alpine valley, that we sometimes 
ask ourselves if the news which the too rare dis- 
patches bring us at long intervals is not wholly in- 
vented. 

That is because it is not easy to picture a battle- 
field, nor to say what figure we should cut on it, what 
emotions we should experience at the first bullets, 



46 A CEUSADER OF FRANCE 

nor up to what extent we should be, from the first, 
masters of our bodies and our weakness. 

And yet, already for several days past and even 
at this hour at which I am quietly writing in front 
of peaceful summits, they are fighting, and seriously; 
at this very minute men like myself and like us all 
are under fire, advance amidst the bullets, and conse- 
quently surmount that first impression of physical 
distress which, for my part, I fear like an act of 
treason and dishonour. 

It is the first contact which must be the critical 
moment. Once that step has been taken, one ought 
to progress much better, be another man, an insensible 
thing hurled by a sort of unconscious force, impossible 
to define, which has suddenly arisen from the unknown 
depths of self, and which guides the subjugated ma- 
chine until the moment it stops, triumphant, or 
shattered. 



August 13. 

I take up again the pencil laid down yesterday. 
This date, August 13, reminds me that to-day I 
am twenty-four. When my birthday comes round 
once more — if it returns at all — I shall have seen a 
multitude of things and experienced many fresh 
emotions. Who knows all that may happen within 
the next year? Shall I still be under arms, or 
shall I have resumed my medical studies which 
were so suddenly interrupted? Shall I even still 
be in this world? It is a curious impression to feel 
oneself on the threshold of such an unknown as 
that which awaits us. Here indeed is what ought 



BEFORE THE FIGHT 47 

to satisfy that conceited desire to live one's own life 
which troubles so many young men and leads them 
to despise their surroundings and daily routine. Here 
also is what ought to make those who pretend to sub- 
ordinate everything to their ambition and degree 
reflect and humiliate themselves a little. 

It is now, it will be above all in a few days, on 
going into fire, that we shall feel at one and the 
same time the importance and insignificance of 
human affairs, the importance of the slightest acts, 
since through their uniform continuity we form 
our character ; the insignificance of all our works and 
desires, since it needs but a wind, rising one day, 
to sweep away like leaves both ourselves and our 
works. 

We would give a good deal, at the present hour, 
to be able to cast a glance at the coming months; 
but who knows whether we should then have the 
courage to face them? God orders things wisely, 
and if we know how to recognize His will everywhere, 
of what importance are events? Thenceforth all 
are of the same value, and it would be true wisdom 
to pass through them with equable impassibility 
and unshakable serenity. This would be the sign 
of true faith, now so rare, the faith of the martyrs 
and the saints. But weakness is inseparable from 
man; and it is a singular consolation, that of a 
God, become man, praying that the cup pass from 
Him. 

Pray for me — I who have only my simple duty to 
perform, like any other, and who may possess, per- 
haps for the first time, some merit in doing it. 

It is here we realize the abominable action of 



48 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

alcohol on the working-class population of towns and 
even those of the country. At the medical inspection 
it is indeed a lamentable spectacle to see these capital 
fellows of twenty-six or twenty-eight — miners of the 
Loire or day-labourers from everywhere — with ulcer- 
ated stomachs, fatty hearts, or poisoned nerves, and 
who are manifestly incapable, even when desires and 
will-powers are adequate, of performing the task 
now set them. "What a scandalous curse that corrupt- 
ing alcohol is! And what a crime these young men 
commit — irresponsibly, unfortunately — against their 
families and descendants, against their country and 
themselves ! 

At their age, between twenty-five and thirty, which 
ought to be the flowering time of the physical and 
moral being, they are already shattered, almost old 
men, morally and physically slaves of their vices, 
socially useless, if not dangerous. Among the dangers 
which now threaten France, this one is perhaps as 
redoubtable as the cannon and bayonets of the 
Germans. 

Ah! what need France will have to return to the 
old beliefs upon which she is established and which 
support her still at the present hour! 

Perhaps this war which is beginning is the sheet- 
anchor held out by God to this drifting country, 
in order to bring it back to Him, who loved and 
protected it so much. That would be the real 
triumph and victory of to-morrow: Gesta Dei per 
Francos! . 

Ten o'clock p.m.! Positively I had once more to 
interrupt this letter. They came to fetch me 
because of the confinement of the wife of the Macot 



BEFOKE THE FIGHT 49 

postman. Failing a doctor and even a midwife, in 
a district where children sprout as plentifully as 
potatoes, I went to give her the slender benefit of my 
knowledge. It is probable that it will not be over 
for some time, perhaps not until to-morrow morning. 
Reveille to-morrow is at three o'clock for a march. 
This will be training for nights at outposts on cam- 
paign, when there will not be much sleep either. 

Thus we must bring men into the world on the eve 
of sending them into the other ! 

Macot, 
August 14. 

I have just spent a rather lively night at the bed- 
side of the postman's wife. Twins were at stake and 
their birth did not come off quite by itself. Every- 
thing, thank God, passed off all right. But I shall 
remember that night at Macot. 

As a result, I was unable to go to bed, and was 
almost dog-tired on setting out at four a.m., for the 
manoeuvre, after a night spent in a sweat, wonder- 
ing how things would end. But the beautiful sun 
of the Alps quickly put me right. The manoeuvre, 
in which the entire battalion took part, passed off 
very well, and having had an afternoon nap, I find 
I am sufficiently fresh and hearty this evening to 
admire the effects of light fading over the mountain- 
tops. 

I occupy, in the midst of the village, a simple and 
natty little room, with pine-wood Venetian shutters, 
in the house of people who possess a good deal of 
that distinguished and refined manner which comes 



50 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

as a surprise in a large number of Savoyard villages. 
Moreover, there is manifest in this interior, combined 
with a certain comfort, a special taste which shows 
a family faithful to those traditions of culture and 
almost aristocracy that you find in a few localities 
of the district. On the walls of my room figure two 
engravings of pictures, by Lancret, in wooden frames 
chosen with excellent taste. You would not find their 
equal in the villages of Dauphiny, nor in those of 
the BrianQonnais. 

From my window I can see the grassy brow which 
descends from the Rognaix, and where, every even- 
ing, glimmer forth, like night-lights, the rare, small 
lights of sheepfolds and farmsteads. This scrap of 
landscape, similar to so many others which have 
already delighted me elsewhere, I shall carry away 
with me, fixed in my memory, when we leave this 
serene solitude for the flaming battlefields of Alsace or 
Belgium. 



The afternoon of August 16. 

Yesterday, August 15, was a rest day. The 
whole village was en fete (only the women, naturally, 
and a few young people), the bells ringing a merry 
peal. At high mass, which was attended by many 
chasseurs, captains and leading officers, the Cure 
preached an excellent sermon, specially prepared 
for the occasion. Macot Church, like most of the 
churches in these very devout and fairly wealthy 
communes of Savoy, is provided with an abundance 
of ornaments, gilding, pictures and coloured wooden 
statues. These form a rather happy whole. The 



BEFORE THE FIGHT 51 

church itself, despite its somewhat heavy aspect, Com- 
mon to the architecture of the First Empire, is pretty ; 
it possesses, above all, a character of its own and is 
in no way commonplace. 

The very solemn high mass, with six choir boys, if 
you please! and all the women wearing the gold- 
embroidered Tarentaise caps and, over their shoulders, 
shawls worked with brilliant colours, made a charm- 
ing scene. 

But, alas ! everything is passing away. Destructive 
civilization, with its motor-ears and railways, is 
spreading everywhere, and already a few dresses 
which smack of the boulevard form a blemish among 
these ancient local costumes, so becoming on these 
robust and rough-hewn women, who retain the hard 
profile, pure and firmly designed features of their 
Moorish ancestors. 

In the evening, at six o'clock, a special benediction 
of the Holy Sacrament was given in honour of the 
troops, and once more the Cure delivered a little 
patriotic speech. Every one came away contented, 
and not before having added his note to the admirable 
cacophony of litanies chanted in chorus by aU the 
men. 

Whilst all of us here were celebrating, en famille, 
the fete of August 15, many of our comrades or 
friends are receiving their baptism of fire on the 
frontier. 

In spite of everything, we are somewhat ashamed 
at this present hour to live in such repose and 
quiet. 

What we lack most are letters. Nobody is re- 
ceiving any. I have had no news of you since my 



52 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

departure. I shall ever remomber that small Voreppe 
railway station — ^the distress of that parting amidst 
the bustle and the crowd — that insuperable impression 
of general dejection and calamity. 

But do not let our minds dwell on that. We 
have too many reasons for hoping, and need all our 
courage. 

Everything is going on all right: we are training, 
getting ready and waiting. 

August 19. 

No luck! For some days past departure had been 
in the air. At last, the evening before yesterday, we 
received an official order to leave about noon to-day; 
so we made ready. But yesterday evening a telegram 
came informing us that, because of the mobilization 
of Italy, the 51st, as covering troops, must remain 
until further orders at Aime. 

So we are still here for I know not how long — 
fixed in this monotonous valley, useless, forgotten, left 
behind. 

I am well aware that one must not think only of 
oneself, and that the higher authorities do not come 
to a decision at the present moment without a reason. 
But confess that it is humiliating for chasseurs to live 
this enervating life of independent gentlemen when 
there is such fine work to be done elsewhere. 

Captain Rousse, who commands the Macot 
detachment, is indignant. A soldier to the bottom 
of his soul, one who has guarded with the fidelity 
of a vestal the sacred fire of the true warrior, he 
champs the bit with more impatience than ever. 



BEFORE THE FIGHT 53 

One must recognize, however, that, despite his ardent 
desire to leave, he is the first to set an admirable 
example of discipline and obedience by restraining 
himself from protesting and by accepting, notwith- 
standing his vexation, the inaction to which he is 
condemned. 

It is officers like these — enthusiasts eager to main- 
tain throughout their career the earnestness and ar- 
dour of their Saint Cyrian days, as well as to avoid 
routine and tiresome uniformity — who make the 
French army what it is. 

And that represents a certain virtue, a continuity 
of attention and effort, in the case of men who re- 
commence, twenty-five or thirty years in succession, 
the same dull work, and who, like others, have their 
duties and cares as heads of families. 

The country has not changed. How could it? 
Yet indeed a peculiar impression finally comes 
home to us almost everywhere — that of the aban- 
donment in which work in the fields, suddenly 
interrupted through the departure of the workers, 
has been left, and that also of the emptiness of the 
villages through which we pass. It is like travers- 
ing a desert, a cursed spot desolated by some 
plague. 

There are indeed on the threshold of the houses 
a few women with downcast air and reddened eyes 
who, thinking of their absent sons, watch us as we 
pass, or children who, left to themselves, are full 
of astonishment and cannot understand what is 
happening. But not a sign of a man, for the old 
men show themselves but little; not a sign of a 
labourer in the fields, where the abundant crops 



54 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

remain ungathered, pillaged by the birds, beaten down 
by storms, and which will end by rotting on the 
ground whence they sprang. The harvest remains 
uncompleted; in the corn-fields the wheat-sheaves, 
set up like trophies, have begun to wither and grow 
mouldy. 

That — these abandoned fields and villages without 
men — is the only thing which has modified the usual 
appearance of the country. But verily the impression 
this produces is peculiar, and we shall retain it in 
connection with this epoch. 

To-day, which was to have been the day of 
departure, we are resting. The days are long 
when unoccupied by professional duties, for there 
is nothing to read and it is forbidden to move 
away from quarters. The chasseurs themselves 
have nothing to do. Some wander about the streets 
with their hands in their pockets, coming and going 
without knowing what to do; others, seated in the 
comer of barns, are writing long, careful, patient 
letters. "Watching them from a distance, absorbed 
in their task, stopping after each phrase and moving 
the pen with a circular gesture above the paper 
before attacking the next, one can easily imagine 
both the style, at once naive and distorted, and 
the object at once selfish and generous, of their cor- 
respondence. 

Others again, with the slowness and ponderous- 
ness characteristic of all their movements, read 
with concentrated attention, spelling each word, 
the news of four or five days ago which is posted 
up on the walls of the Mairie. Then, stopping 
they comment and discuss — ^talk politics a little; 



BEFORE THE FIGHT 55 

for it is a fact that the more ignorant people are 
regarding political matters the more they love to 
talk about them. Off they then move, on the 
clarion sounding the dinner-hour: one of the best 
times of the day, since it at least corresponds to a 
present reality. And soon you will see them seated 
on trunks of abandoned tr^es, alongside the houses, 
on stones, on the wheelbarrows or ploughs in the 
sheds, with their mess-tins on their knees and their 
bodies bent very low over the stew, each spoonful 
of which they swallow noisily, without uttering 
a word, and with the regularity of a pendulum until 
it is all eaten. When they have finished their 
dinner they resume their aimless deambulation in the 
village, or else go and stretch themselves in the 
hay where some of them spend hours in a sort of 
semi-coma, which is neither true sleep nor conscious- 
ness, and must resemble the condition of hibernating 
marmots. 

For lack of being more useful to my country in 
a military way, I am called upon from time to time 
to act as doctor for the district. Yesterday I was 
called to the bedside of a poor woman who has been 
coughing up her lungs for the past six months, 
and to whom the Cure of Macot asked me to bring 
my poor abilities, which, under the circumstances, 
could be manifested only by kind words, everything 
else being superfluous. This apart from all men 
or N.C.O.'s of my company, or the neighbouring 
company who, gradually informed of my civil 
identity, come timidly, and with manifold circum- 
locution, to submit their cases to me — cases which 
they naturally consider are always very delicate 



56 A CRUSADER OP FRANCE 

and above all very different from ordinary ones. 
So that I do not despair, if we remain here some 
time longer, of being able to prepare, practically if 
not theoretically, for my duties as house-surgeon. 

Macot, 
August 20. 

At last — at last, a letter has arrived ! I have been 
awaiting something from you for so long that I had 
almost lost hope of receiving anything. It is, there- 
fore, only as a measure of prudence that correspon- 
dence has been momentarily stopped. We have no 
right to complain about it. Under present circum- 
stances private interests disappear; there is only a 
single interest, a single cause to which all, without 
distinction of class, party or opinion, are rallying. 
France is setting an admirable example at the present 
time by making a clean sweep of all the differences 
which have so long divided her. Republicans, royal- 
ists, anarchists, socialists exist no longer; there are 
only Frenchmen, united in the same movement of soli- 
darity and devotion. 

I seem to have a vision of the France of to- 
morrow, purified by sacrifice and aggrandized by or- 
deal, issuing from the struggle with a halo of fresh 
prestige and resuming on the world's highway the 
place of honour she was about to abandon. 

"Who knows whether this formidable contest in 
which all the Powers stand face to face is not the 
redeeming devastation permitted by God in order to 
efface the stains which soiled the eldest daughter 
of the Church? Leaning over the terrifying abyss 



BEFORE THE FIGHT 57 

which has just opened at our feet, we tremble when 
we think of the extent and range of such events, and 
especially at the thought of the issue of this unpre- 
cedented struggle. 

But why let such cares disquiet us ? Carried away 
by the formidable whirlwind, we are like a grain of 
sand that knows not whence it comes, nor whither this 
fatality is carrying it. Let us follow its example. 
Like these leaves which are seized in the vortices of 
the tempest, let us abandon ourselves, not to fatality, 
but to God, in whom we move, and who alone knows 
whither He is guiding us. 

In the ever protracted expectation in which I live, 
I pray, I also, for you, whom I left in disquietude and 
powerlessness. 



Macot, 
August 22. 

This time it is indeed the last letter I shall write 
to you from Macot. We leave to-night at eleven. We 
know, confidentially, that we are going in an easterly 
direction, probably towards Besangon. 

Thus, in our turn, we are going to enter into the 
struggle; it is now merely a question of sooner or 
later. We shall certainly be engaged one day or other 
in the line of battle; we shall see what a battle- 
field is like; like all the soldiers of France, we shall 
fight. 

Every one on leaving is satisfied. During these 
fifteen days' respite we have got into training, 
and this battalion of reserves, licked into shape 



58 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

through military discipline, is setting off in good form 
and will, I believe, cut a good figure at the intended 
moment. 

Pray that I may, by the grace of God, do my duty 
honourably. What He wills will come to pass. 



THE VOSGES 



Chapter II 

THE VOSGES 

Chambery, 

August 23, six o'clock. 

We have been en route since last night at eleven. 
Everybody sets off with a glad heart ; all the men are 
singing; and the compartments are decked with 
flowers. We are to arrive this evening at . . . 

August 24, en route. 

On leaving Aime the major received notice of a new 
direction — that of Gray, an important regulating sta- 
tion where we arrived last night after having crossed 
the whole of Bresse (asleep within its girdle of woods), 
under a dazzling sun. 

At Gray, a fresh surprise: we were to continue 
immediately in the direction of Saint-Die, where 
we are expected to arrive about 5 a.m. And ever 
since we have been rolling along. But we are much 
behind our time-table, since it is ten o'clock, at 
the time of writing to you, and we are not yet at 
fipinal. 

So now we are in the zone of the armies. How 
everything has changed since Macot! What traffic 

61 



62 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

in the railway station! "What crowds of employees 
with armlets, troops, wounded, and specialized 
officers ! 

This first contact with the realities of war is start- 
ling! Yesterday, after Saint- Jean-de-Losne, we met 
an ambulance train ; and this morning we encountered 
two others. In the short minutes during which we 
saw them we were able to note that the men were all 
brave and that their spirits were excellent. They give 
details regarding the circumstances under which they 
were wounded and express a wish we may soon avenge 
them. Yesterday evening we met a convoy of German 
prisoners. 

This morning, at all the small stations through 
which we have passed, the sidings and platforms are 
occupied by wagons loaded with an odd collection of 
objects, such as cordage, screw-jacks, cables, siege 
material, waiting there to be put into use. 

The roads are cut up through the trampling of the 
horses, and are full of ruts ; both artillery and cavalry 
have left their traces there. The fields, covered with 
ripe crops, are completely deserted; only children, at 
great intervals, are to be seen, guarding herds of cows 
in bits of meadows. 

All along the fields the territorials have pitched little 
camps, with tents or shelters of foliage, for all the 
world like Indian camps in the virgin forest. 

Monday evening, August 24. 

It is eight o'clock, and we are still rolling along. 
When I say we are rolling along, that is but a mode 
of spicech; for in reality we are in distress, on a 



THE VOSGES 63 

siding, at I cannot say what small station between 
Spinal and Saint-Die. Night has fallen — a splen- 
did night; and in the harmonious, most verdant 
country the pine woods which clothe the last pro- 
jection of the Vosges add a melancholy note. 
The sky is sown of stars and above the lines of woods 
which close the horizon a slender crescent moon 
rises. What serenity! What quietude, broken only 
at long intervals by the strident whistle of locomo- 
tives ! 

You cannot imagine the extent of the striking and 
inexpressible novelty of this magnificent night, the 
splendour of which we cannot help comparing to the 
horrors which are spread out barely a few leagues 
from here. In the flower-decked compartments the 
men are singing, in an undertone, the languishing 
songs of their native districts. It is at once touching 
and tragic. 



Tuesday, August 25, 10 a.m. 

We ended by reaching Saint-Die this morning, but 
how late, grand Dieu! 

Here reality is more and more striking ; the town is 
full of soldiers, horsemen, artillery, convoys, motor- 
cars. Many of the troops we met have already been 
in action several times; the men are black, dirty, 
fatigued, and many of the horses limp. All this is no 
longer sham warfare. 

A short time ago, on arriving, we fired on a German 
aeroplane which was flying over Saint-Die, but 
which made off at once, followed by the bullets, 
which missed it. Another passed a moment after- 



64 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

wards, but too high and too far off to be able to fire 
at it. It dropped bombs which fell into the fields 
without doing any harm. 

12.30 noon. 

We have just removed to three or four kilometres 
east of Saint-Die, to protect the town against an 
eventual attack by German cavalry. The cannonade, 
which ceased about ten o'clock, was resumed a short 
time since, nearer, in the direction of the Vosges, 
the wooded barrier of which lies before us, fifteen 
kilometres away. Every now and then we can even 
see on the slopes the white balls of smoke which follow 
by several seconds the detonation, dull like exploding 
mines. 

I hope it is our artillery which is firing. We our- 
selves are in reserve behind the first hills which rise 
to the east of Saint-Die. The two companies are in 
the first line of a healthy ridge at an altitude of 2,500 
to 3,200 feet. The two other companies, including 
my own, are massed in the second line on sloping 
meadows; and here we wait. But, judging by the 
cannonade, which is becoming more distinct and 
nearer, like the dull rumbling of a storm, and by the 
patrols of horsemen or stray, bustling and exhausted 
foot-soldiers, who come down to Saint-Die, to re- 
victual, the enemy must be progressing towards us 
and the day will probably not go by without our 
having to fight. 

4 p.m. 

We are still awaiting the attack. Will it be made 



THE VOSGES 65 

this evening or to-morrow? Small bodies of troops 
are passing along the road in disorder, falling back 
on Saint-Die. There are all sorts: foot-soldiers, hus- 
sars, and sappers, escorted by peasants and bonnet- 
less women, who carry baskets and cloaks. All these 
are in flight. The men who pass — dirty and worn 
out — say that the Germans are at Provencheres, ten 
kilometres in front of us. It is, therefore, probable 
we shall spend the night here. 

The men of the 22nd who are falling back on 
Saint-Die were, a week ago, at Saint-Marie-aux- 
Mines, in the midst of Alsace. From line to line 
they are retreating, harassed by the German ar- 
tillery. 

In our present position it is useless to try to know 
or understand anything. "We are drowned in such 
a mass that we cannot give an account of what is 
happening in the whole. Thus, to-day, whilst we 
are falling back where we are, we gained, it appears, 
a splendid victory at Raon-l'Etape. They must be 
in pursuit of the Germans over there, for the artil- 
lery has begun to roar again, but further off and 
duller. 



5.30. 

The marching past of the retreating 22nd con- 
tinues. AU the men are hideous, hirsute, and visibly 
worn out. They have been fighting for three weeks, 
and have more often slept in the open air than on 
hay. However, notwithstanding their fatigue, they 
are cheerful and courageous. Many of them brand- 
ish trophies triumphantly — one a German soldier's 



66 A CRUSADBE OF FEANCE 

hairy knapsack, another a loader, a third a spiked 
helmet or a foraging-cap. 

So now we are on the eve of onr first battle. It 
is difficult to believe that up to the last moment we 
have had no presentiment. This evening, in the hazy 
twilight of the Vosges, whence come the echoes of the 
distant cannonade, there is not a trace of anguish. 
Faces are serious but resolute; words springing to 
the lips are perhaps somewhat anxious, but full of 
animation and sometimes chaff. Gallic blood will come 
out. 

Men sent to Grattin, a small village where we shall 
take up our quarters to-night, are going to prepare 
dinner. This evening we are on campaign and I have 
told my men that we shall mess together. 

To know that to-night you and the family are pray- 
ing for me gives me great confidence. 

Friday, August 28. 

This time we have received our baptism of fire — 
and a serious one, I assure you. 

I believe it was the evening before last I left you. 
Having passed the day at the hamlet of Dijon, we 
went down again to Grattin, to sleep. That even- 
ing the enemy was not far off; for patrols sent into 
the woods before Dijon saw German foot-soldiers 
several times. Captain Eousse's cyclist killed a 
Uhlan, and brought back his small flag. A patrol, 
sent out by the 51st, returned with a wounded 
corporal. 

In the evening, at nightfall, the cannonade, which 
had rumbled all day, suddenly and violently de- 



THE VOSGES 67 

scended on the positions occupied by the main part 
of the battalion behind Dijon, and for a few moments 
the uproar was infernal. 

A little later infantry fire, very near, crackled forth 
in the woods on our left. Therefore everything 
authorized us to anticipate that the next day would 
not be without novelty. 

At night, when bringing back my section to Grattin, 
we were several times fired at in the darkness, for- 
tunately without being hit. I found out afterwards 
that a section of my company had taken us for Ger- 
mans. A mere mistake ! 

The next day, at dawn, we took up the same posi- 
tions as the day before and the evening before that. 
We were immediately joined by our Alpine battery 
and strengthened by a company of 300 men from the 
depot at Annecy. 

Shortly after dawn, about five o'clock, the cannon- 
ade recommenced and made a certain impression. 
Having stood a copious downpour of shrapnel without 
damage, we set about taking steps against the enemy, 
who were certainly not far off. Captain Rousse 's com- 
pany had continued to occupy at Dijon his defensive 
positions and trenches, prepared two days before. As 
he had sent the information, collected by his patrols, 
that an attack on the left was probable at any moment, 
Captain Deschamps, in command of the 51st, dis- 
patched me immediately with my section to strengthen 
it, as on the day before. But this time it was more 
serious. 

About 6.30 Captain Rousse received an order to 
take the offensive — an order he had awaited in vain 
the day before, when conditions were more advan- 



68 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

tageous. The road from Dijon immediately enters a 
pine wood the outskirts of which . . . 



Saturday, August 29. 

I should like to resume my letter at the point I 
left ofl:, but I am worn out and famished. We have 
had no distribution during the four days we have 
been in action. The battalion is broken up, and has 
partly disappeared; all the men are at the end of 
their strength, and have hardly been able either to 
sleep, or to rest, or to eat for the last three days. And 
in addition to that we are beaten: Saint-Die is occu- 
pied by the Germans. A counter-attack, attempted 
by us yesterday, though the men were regularly 
knocked up, partly succeeded, but came to nothing 
this morning. So, dog-tired, we are retreating, fol- 
lowed by infernal artillery fire, which has claimed 
not a few victims since yesterday. 

I shall wait for another day, when body and mind 
are in a better state, before resuming the narrative 
of our first fight, the day before yesterday, when Cap- 
tain Rousse, under my very eyes, met a uselessly 
heroic death. Many others also were killed or 
wounded on that day. 

But I will tell you all about that some other day 
(if that day is to come), when we are no longer under 
this hellish shell-fire and have once a little quiet 
and silence. To-day I am hardly capable of telling 
you anything but this: I should like bread, rest, 
sleep. 

These few lines are written in one of those splen- 



THE VOSGES 69 

did forests of the Vosges where I halt in order to 
protect the retreat of the batteries of 7^'s. 

Sunday, August 30. 

Things are going a little better this morning. The 
weather is ideal, the country delightful, and it is 
wretched to see it cut up in this manner by war. But 
above all, I obtained bread yesterday evening, thanks 
to the charity of a foot-soldier from whom I begged. 
Ah! you are no longer proud when you have had 
nothing to eat for two days. 

So things are going better. "We are still in action. 
The 51st, or at least what remains of it, has the dan- 
gerous mission of resisting at all costs, in order to 
enable the 14th Army Corps to retreat by the Bru- 
yeres road. Since this morning we have been deployed 
as sharpshooters behind the lines of bushes and the 
outskirts of the pines which clothe the slopes of this 
valley from La Bolle to Eougiville, that has been 
swept for three days past by a continuous rain of 
shells. At the hour at which I write to you (2 p.m.) 
the shells pass every two or three minutes with a 
shrill whistle, terminated by a thunder-clap. But you 
end by getting used to this uproar when you have 
been walking about in it for close upon five days, 
and, whilst keeping an eye on the points of the Ger- 
man positions at which our artillery is aiming, I enjoy 
this magnificent day. 

How delightful the forests of the Vosges must be 
when you come to them as a peaceful visitor! 

I was telling you, then, that, last Thursday^ our 
first fight took place in the morning. Two sections 
of Captain Rousse's company entered the pine 



70 A CEUSADER OF FEANCB 

wood, one on each side of the road, immediately sup- 
ported by two other sections including my own. 
Hardly had the first scouts entered the forest when a 
furious rifle-firing began, accompanied by cries and 
savage calls. The captain, who was preceding me, 
ordered me to advance my section quickly, in the 
direction which he indicated. But the firing re- 
doubled, came from all sides at the same time, and men 
began to fall heavily, noiselessly, on to mossy ground. 
Then the captain, pale and very agitated, stood up in 
the wood and shouted at the top of his voice : * ' Help ! 
Help ! "With fixed bayonets ! ' ' And immediately, at 
his first movement to dash forward, he fell back- 
wards. 

At that moment I was trying to see the Germans, 
who were shooting us almost point-blank, and who 
were invisible, thanks to their greyish uniforms 
mingling with the wild-raspberry bushes and ferns. 

Meanwhile men were falling. Seizing the rifle of 
one who had fallen by my side, I fired a few shots, 
whilst sheltering myself as well as possible behind a 
pine tree or a clod. But very quickly, on looking 
around me, I saw that there was hardly any one else 
standing . . . 

Then, rather than get killed all by myself, which 
would doubtless have been more heroic, I fled towards 
the houses of Dijon, jumped over the barricades and, 
amidst a continuous whizz of bullets, took refuge in 
a house. 

On looking back once or twice, I recollect having 
seen Germans quite near, firing in our direction. 

Once I thought of barricading myself in a house 
and firing from the windows when the Germans 



THE VOSGES 71 

came. But the village was already completely de- 
serted; one or two chasseurs, who had entered the 
house with me, said; ''A shell has just fallen on the 
roof," and . . . 

What was one to do alone? In my turn I fled, as 
best I could, hearing, for four or five hundred metres, 
the bullets hissing like serpents everywhere, whilst 
tracing lines in the grass. 

How did 1 reach a wooded hillock where our 
Alpine battery and machine-gun were? How is it 
that I was not at least wounded on that day? It is 
a miracle, for I found out afterwards that four bul- 
lets had touched me. One merely grazed my Tyrolese 
knapsack, another traversed my aluminium water- 
bottle, a third went right through my knapsack and 
everything it contained, whilst a fourth even struck 
the butt of the rifle I had in my hand. I must 
indeed thank God for having come out of it safe and 
sound. 

For a moment we took up our position again 
around the Alpine battery. But soon the shells dis- 
lodged us from it. A gun had to be abandoned . . . 

For our beginning, that was terrible and sad. 
Several officers — five at least — were left there that 
morning. 

Poor Captain Eousse! I shall ever see him, with 
his head thrown back and his knees bent, being borne 
away amidst the bullets by two of his men, who 
supported him under the arms. Before dying he 
said to them: ''Thank my company for me," and 
afterwards: ''Take orders from Captain Deschamps." 
He also told his corporal, who was carrying him 
away, to take his sabre and give it to his son. And 



f72 A CRUSADER OP FRANCE 

he died like a hero — sacrificed, seeing himself sacri- 
ficed, flinging himself with despair but bravely into 
the arms of death. 

That surprise among the pines, those rifle-shots, 
those cries, those shrieks (amidst which I several 
times clearly distinguished commands in German), 
that death of the captain — all that I shall never be 
able to forget. 

At Saint-Die all the houses were closed and the 
streets deserted. We were ordered to erect barricades 
and take up positions to defend the streets of the 
town; and there we waited to resist in the streets, as 
on the day of Bazeilles. 

The weather was terrible. Everybody was dog- 
tired, silent, driven into corners against the walls, 
whilst the shells fell on the town. 

We waited in that way until noon. Then came 
an order to evacuate the town and fall back on La 
BoUe. So we formed ourselves into column again 
and left the town amidst the rain and the wind. But 
ihardly had we got out when once more we came 
under the fire of the German artillery. Reinforce- 
ments proceeding towards Saint-Die told us we 
must return there. After that the battalion broke 
up into several parts. One, under Captain Des- 
champs, made a counter-attack from Saint-Die, 
whence they were driven with fresh losses; another, 
to which I was attached, wandered about in dis- 
order until evening, pursued by the big German 
howitzers. 

Since then — ^that is to say for the past three days 
— ^we have been manoeuvring in this little valley 
which stretches from Saint-Die to Rougiville, losing 



THE VOSGES 73 

ground one day, regaining a little the next, but only 
to lose it once more, leaving a few men behind daily, 
and totally lacking in victuals. Consequently the 
men are at the end of their resources. From the 
very first day they have seen many of their comrades 
fall, they are not eating, sleep badly, and . . . But 
daily we must set out again on campaign, stand the 
grape-shot and bullets, lose ourselves, disperse, and 
endeavor to get together again in the evening to find 
rest-billets. 

Only fragments of the 51st Batallion remain. I 
do not know how many men have been killed or 
wounded. There are no more captains left; half of 
the sub-lieutenants are either killed or wounded; and 
there are stragglers who have not yet found us. In 
short, this morning, there assembled, to strengthen the 
barrage of the valley in which we are collaborating, 
only 180 men and three sub-lieutenants, . . . 

To-day, I do not know how the day is going to 
end. Our mission to hold the valley, in advance of 
the ways of retreat, at all cost, has up to now been 
relatively easy to fill. The German patrols have been 
driven back by our artillery and infantry fire. And 
at the present time, established on our positions, 
we are assisting at an artillery duel which will per- 
haps last until night, and the only object of which 
appears to be to hold in respect the troops on either 
side. 

Over this pretty valley, encompassed by pine- 
clad slopes, and in this beautiful cool weather of the 
end of summer, the shells pass, replying to each other 
from one end of the valley to the other, and spread- 
ing desolation wherever they strike. Columns of 



74 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

smoke — sometimes even real fires — arise where the 
grape-shot falls. A sawmill has just blazed up with 
immense tongues of flame before our eyes. 

And to-day is Sunday — ^the day for the opening of 
the shooting season at Lonnes, where the country must 
be so beautiful, so quiet, so reposeful. 

The day before yesterday, on overtaking a bat- 
talion of the 22nd Infantry, I came across Jean, who 
called out to me. As a soldier he was unrecognizable. 
"We were able to see each other for only two 
minutes at the roadside. He had just arrived by 
stages, and did not know what they intended to do 
with him. 

He also told me that he had no news of you since 
his departure. Nor I either. 

When and where shall I now receive your letters, 
granting that I ever get them? And do you receive 
mine, those I write to you, like this one, on my knee, 
in the open air, whenever I have a moment to spare? 
The last ones I entrusted to folk who were fleeing to 
Saint-Die. Was the post office able to get them away 
before the arrival of the Germans? And this one 
(already resumed twice), how shall I get it to you 
amidst our confusion, and far as we are from convoys 
and any resource? 

Moreover, during the past four or five days I have 
never known where I should sleep at night, nor even 
if I should still be uninjured. 

Ah ! war ! war ! . . . 

It will soon be 4 p.m. The artillery stopped 
a short time since, on their side and on ours; a 
few rifle-shots are indeed fired from time to time, 
but perhaps the fight will remain where it is for 



THE VOSGES 75 

to-day, and the accomplishment of our mission will 
have been easy. Unless the Germans are preparing 
something during this insidious silence. 

They are very good at that, as well as at shelling 
us at nightfall. They then advance as close as pos- 
sible to our lines and sweep everything before them 
at random. If, fortunately, that does not often do 
much damage, it is always impressive, disquieting, and 
forces the troops to retreat still farther before taking 
up their quarters. 

Pooh! The weather is fine. The day will perhaps 
end quite calmly. Yesterday evening the sky, towards 
Saint-Die, was all ablaze. 

Monday evening. 

"We have spent a cruel night at the outposts, on the 
wet grass, alongside a road strewn with corpses, and 
near the smoking embers of a burnt-out house. 

To-day we have maintained the same positions by 
organizing them definitely by means of trenches. The 
men are regularly knocked up. 

"We occupy the hedge of a pretty pleasure prop- 
erty, elegant and luxurious, which was bombarded yes- 
terday and completely destroyed — shattered from 
cellar to roof. It is lamentable. 

This evening there is a very pure sky, across which 
pass from time to time German aeroplanes on 
reconnaissance. It is a clear evening, with the 
shadows of the pines lengthened by the setting sun, 
and the whole valley seems to be reflected in the pale 
twilight sky. 

It is sad to the point of tears to feel oneself alone 



76 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

at sueh a job, and amidst such a scene, which by- 
contrast makes the dismal desolation of the district 
more striking — & district ravaged by shells, and where 
abandoned bodies form, here and there, black stains 
on the meadows. "What a hideous contrast ! 

A moment ago, one of my comrades, a sub-lieuten- 
ant, was wounded by a shell-splinter. Ah! the 51st 
Battalion of chasseurs is frittering away ! 

We have also taken in a wounded German, who 
came to implore our assistance. 

Farewell! War is indeed horrible, and there are 
times, like this evening, when, in spite of oneself, one 
is overcome by hideous depression. 

And yet the weather is so beautiful, the country 
so pleasant! 

Wednesday, September 2. 

Things are going better — much better. I speak 
solely of what concerns me, since I know nothing or 
almost nothing, of the war, nor even about the re- 
mainder of the world. 

But, personally, I have obtained since yesterday a 
little comfort, in which I was in great need from every 
point of view. 

After having remained three days and two nights 
at the outposts, in the midst of desolation, rubbish and 
dead bodies, we were at last relieved yesterday morn- 
ing, in order to rejoin our battalion (or at least what 
remains of it), and we have had an afternoon's rest, 
in addition to receiving bread and meat. 

We found ourselves again with the 11th Battalion, 
since we mustered together; and at the orders of 



THE VOSGBS 77 

the major-general the two battalions have been united. 
The 51st no longer exists; there is only the 11th, with 
seven companies, the whole being placed under the 
command of Major Auger d. 

As far as I am concerned, I am delighted with this 
arrangement. We enter into a well-constituted unity, 
well in hand — one in which the moral is better and 
the life more stirring. 

I experienced yesterday an impression of profound 
bliss at being able to rest a little in the sun, to eat, 
and to sleep at night on a mattress. What com- 
fort ! 

To-day our new battalion, the 11th, is held in re- 
serve for the division, and up to the present we are at 
rest, assembled against banks or in the sinuosities of 
the ground, ready to be sent to the point where they 
need us. 

Thursday, September 3. 

Come, I have again seen the sun rise this morning. 
It was devilishly cold when it began to appear, all red, 
on the misty horizon; now it is already high and 
dazzling. After a night in the open air, this sun-bath 
is a beneficent sensation. 

Yesterday Major Augerd led four companies 
in an attack on the Kemberg, a terrible ridge, 
bristling with pines, on to which the Germans are 
holding, with machine-guns in trenches, and whence 
they dominate the whole situation to the west of 
Saint-Die. When our troops reached the summit, 
which crowns this ridge, they encountered a short 
but very steep slope, and it was at that very 



78 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

moment that the rifles and invisible machine-guns 
opened fire on them. Twenty men were killed or 
wounded; a captain was killed, another wounded. 
Face to face with this hurricane of bullets, the major 
considered it wise to retreat, in order to avoid the 
massacre of the whole of his battalion; and from the 
position we occupied below we saw the companies come 
back, one by one, and reunite at the bottom of the 
outskirts of the woods. 

So the two last captains of the 11th have fallen! 
It is, however, a fact common to all corps that the 
losses in officers are proportionately much higher 
than those in the rank and file. The best German 
marksmen, it is said, have received orders to aim at 
any one with stripes. Anyway, the staff of officers 
for this big battalion of 1,700 men is now singularly 
depleted. The result is that the survivors will 
have to assume important commands ; and I was 
informed yesterday evening that I shall probably have 
to take command of the 5th Company. Mon 
Dieu! how shall I manage with the little experi- 
ence I possess? What a responsibility to lead 
250 men on campaign! I pray God to enlighten 
me concerning duties for which I am insufficiently 
prepared. 

To-day we are organized for resistance at the 
hamlet of Claingoutte, to the south-east of Saint- 
Die, where we were sent yesterday evening with 
two companies of the 11th to relieve the outposts 
held by the 30th of the line. "We passed the night 
there — a splendid night illumined by the moon and 
stars — rolled in our cloaks, on which the dew-drops 
collected. It was cold. After the final gun-shots 



THE VOSGES 79 

of straggling patrols, quietness came^ — a delusive lull 
in these parts where the storm of shells rages from 
morn to night. 

At break of day we roused ourselves, bustled about 
to restore the circulation of our blood, and rolled up 
our cloaks. Some of the men went off to the shelter 
of the houses to warm the coffee — the good old 
"juice" of the trooper; and since dawn we are 
burrowed in our holes, motionless, crouching in the 
red earth, among the clover and potatoes. "We shall 
remain here as long as we are left, keeping watch 
over the ground and, from time to time, sending small 
patrols into the wood on our left to guard against a 
surprise. . . . 

For the past hour a huge German dirigible, similar 
in its yellow rotundity to an enormous larva, has been 
swaying above the valley of Sainte-Marguerite. 

Since this morning everything has been confined to 
an artillery duel. The quantity of artillery ammu- 
nition consumed by the Germans is incredible. "What- 
ever may have been said, their famous heavy 
artillery is not negligible — one must recognize that 
after having seen a few of these huge craters it 
sinks in the fields, with a stupendous eruption of 
earth and iron, or else the breaches it makes in 
brick walls or roof. But, above all, they can fire 
from a great distance (8 to 9 kilometres) with these 
big guns, which is at once their strength and weak- 
ness ; for if they are able to bombard as from far 
off they are aiming somewhat in the dark, so 
much so that in the end they do not do great harm, 
considering the inordinate quantity of projectiles 
they fire. The tiny bullets which strike you slyly, 



80 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

without you hearing them coming, are more to be 
feared. 



Sunday, September 6. 

Sunday! You would not have the least idea of it 
here, where everything is on fire or in rack and ruin, 
and where the only bell is the rumbling bass of 
cannonades. September 6! — That represents more 
than a month of war. How is it that I am still here 
uninjured — the same as I was on the day I left you. 
at Voreppe railway station? 

One marvels, on finding oneself still alive, to per- 
ceive that one has lived up to the present time, 

I believe that I have not written to you since 
Thursday, but there has been nothing very particu- 
lar to report. From Claingoutte we moved to Giron- 
paire, near Saint-Leonard ; then, on Friday night, we 
rejoined our battalion at Taintrux. 

A little incident occurred at Gironpaire. We were 
attacked and charged — by a cow, a wild young heifer 
which rushed at us from behind the end of a hedge. 
Ahead of the others, I was the first to be bowled over, 
and the animal charged me twice, with lowered 
head, and would certainly have injured me if it had 
not, fortunately, been devoid of horns, owing to its 
youth. I got off with a fright and an insignificant 
bruise. 

Further on it charged Lieutenant Beynet, who was 
in command of the remainder of the company, but 
he found protection behind a tree and killed it with 
two rifle-shots. There and then it was cut up and 
distributed to sections of the company, the remains 



THE YOSGES 81 

and the skin being given to the people of the district, 
who can find nothing to eat in this time of war. And 
that is how we came, on Friday evening, and within a 
protecting barn, to enjoy a delicious fillet. Small inci- 
dents of the great war ! 

This morning, the German trenches in front of 
us being evacuated, as the result of a hot peppering 
with projectiles, we have slightly advanced in the 
direction of Rougiville; and it is from one of these 
very trenches, still occupied yesterday by the enemy, 
that I write to you, until we continue the movement 
forward, since we have received orders to take the 
offensive. 

Another lieutenant of the battalion was killed 
yesterday. If this continues, there will soon be 
no more officers to command these 1,600 to 1,700 
men. 

Sunday evening, 5.30. 

Nothing fresh to-day. Like every evening at this 
time, the German heavies are bombarding us from a 
great distance. An hour of patience, the shades of 
night over us, and the cannonade will have ceased. 
We shall then be able to leave our holes. But it is 
probable, considering the situation, that we shall re- 
ceive orders to remain at our positions, and this will be 
one more night spent in the open air. 

Behold the evening cometh, gradually casting its 
shadow over the countryside, which the sun seerds 
to caress as a shepherd caresses a sick sheep. In these 
last feeble rays, which cause the shadows on the 
sloping sides of the mountains to incline, there is, 



82 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

as it were, an expression of regret, a word of consola- 
tion, if not of hope. 

How the war has devastated everything before us! 
A house — after many others — has finished burning at 
our feet. As far as the eye can reach there are 
nothing but ruins, shattered roofs, abandoned houses. 
Through my glasses I can distinguish in the 
distance a column of German infantry defiling along 
a narrow road. To think that those men marching 
over there, whom I can see in movement, advanc- 
ing, and who are men like all of us, like myself, are 
enemies, and that, mutually watching each other from 
afar, we are anxious to kill each other some day 
or other — to-morrow, this evening, no matter 
when. 

These appalling thoughts come to one sometimes 
when one reflects, especially during these clear even- 
ing hours when Nature, with her multitudinous voices, 
sings the hymn of peace, meditation, repose. No ! No ! 
We must thrust these egoistic temptations from us. 
We are at war and must wage war. It is a great 
and serious duty to be accepted and fulfilled. But 
pray for me; I have such need, such great need of 
your prayers. When shall I see you again? If you 
only knew how every moment I think of you. May 
God protect you all! 

Still no news from my brother Jean. He must 
be now with the troops of the 22nd of the line, which 
is to lead the attack with us. 

Monday (morning), September 7. 

Still in our trenches on the outskirts of » the wood. 
Stretched on a bed of pine branches made by one 



THE VOSGES 83 

of my men, wrapped in my cloak and covered by a 
German great-coat, picked up in the wood, I have 
slept several hours, opening my eyes from time to 
time to see the light of the moon filtering through 
the trees, or to hear a distant rumbling of artillery 
or ammunition wagons. 

As soon as day broke a German 77 battery began 
to pepper copiously the wood where we are, and kept 
it up conscientiously for six or seven hours, but with 
little intervals, advantage of which was taken by the 
men who threaded their way through the wood, to 
attend to revictualling. For it is of the utmost im- 
portance to eat on campaign. They have just brought 
in my lunch : a beefsteak, pommes saute es, carrot soup, 
and coffee. This is an important moment of the day, 
although one continually expects to see a shell fall 
into one's plate of potatoes. 

You must go at full speed in warfare, and never 
before have I understood so well the literal truth of 
the expression '^ Avoir du cc&ur au ventre." For the 
stomach plays a great part. The rest is somewhat, if 
not completely, sacrificed; and in these days people 
who have at their disposal a dressing-room, with per- 
fumed soaps, eau-de-Cologne, nay even a bath-room, 
appear to me to be effeminate decadents. Still, if these 
things were within my reach ! . . . 



Wednesday, September 9. 

At about two o'clock this morning, a German patrol 
having approached our lines, gun-shots were fired, 
and, as always happens in the dark, all the men began 
firing into the obscurity, without knowing either at 



84 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

whom they were shooting or why. There was furious 
and impressive firing for a quarter of an hour. Then 
the rifle-shots became fewer and fewer, and silence 
reigned once more. 

The fox-like existence we are leading is in the main 
a very vegetative life. But when the stomach does 
not clamour, the rest is all right, provided however 
that you do not allow yourself to reflect too much. 
The lieutenants and the two N.C.O.'s with whom we 
"break bread" are fine chaps who do not let them- 
selves be demoralized by a cannon-ball; and if you 
were present at one of our meals, nibbled on the 
mossy ground or in the hollow of a trench, you would 
have a difficulty in believing that we are a few hun- 
dred yards from the Germans, who watch us from the 
opposite edge of the wood, and that one of these shells 
which mow down the pines more or less everywhere 
may at any minute claim one of us. 

The other evening, at nightfall, whilst we were 
thus unceremoniously dining, all four conversing 
in an undertone, a sentry came to ask the lieutenant 
who commands us for the pass-word for the night. 
The lieutenant, after momentarily hesitating, re- 
plied: ''Ma foi, the general hasn't told me. "Well, 
let it be m . . . !" And he uttered Cambronne's 
heroic reply. Ah! old France! The stupid Ger- 
mans will not so quickly destroy the heritage of our 
ancestors the Gauls; and I am quite certain that 
they over there, opposite us, do not know the art of 
replying, in articulo mortis, by means of such 
witticisms. 



THE VOSGES 85 

Thursday, September 10. 

Yesterday evening the German cannonade clearly 
had as its objective the little village of Rougiville, at 
the base of the slopes we occupy, for they did not 
rest until they had set fire to the few houses still 
standing, and one or '^two of which were inhabited. 
The ruddy glare of the fire in the darkness of the 
night and amidst the Gothic cannonading of the pines 
was a tragic sight. 

Friday, September 11. 

Oh, what a surprise ! The battery which has been 
incessantly bombarding us for several days past be- 
came silent this morning, and we have reason to believe 
that it made off during the night. It looks as though 
the Germans had cleared out in front of us. A patrol, 
whom I just sent almost to the trenches they occupied, 
has returned without having received a single shot, 
and brings back a number of articles taken from 
German bodies: knapsacks, cartridges, rifles, pro- 
visions, papers, etc. Positively, we have done them 
more damage than we thought. Come now, things 
are going well. 

Moreover, we are informed by the staff of the divi- 
sion that the French armies have gained a great vic- 
tory north of Paris. Will this be the decisive vic- 
tory? Let us hope so. The men immediately re- 
gained courage, notwithstanding their ten consecutive 
nights at the outposts, on aU of them bringing in 
trophies. 



86 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

Saint-Die, 

Tuesday, Septemher 15. 

A few quickly written lines to you this morning, 
before setting off, to let you know I am still alive. 

The Germans are retreating before us, and it is 
already three days since our troops reoccupied Saint- 
Die; but a devastated Saint-Die, still shuddering at 
the savagery of the Boches, and where the women and 
children flocked to meet us, to shake our hands and 
throw us flowers. 

Since, we have lived three laborious days, with 
nights in the open, in the rain and a bitterly cold 
north wind. 

Yesterday, September 14. I once more looked 
death in the face. My Tyrolese knapsack received 
the bullet. It was the day on which the compe- 
tition for the post of house-surgeon was to have 
begun! . . . 

To-day we leave by road for Ramblervillers, where 
we entrain for another destination. 



THE SOMME 



/ 



Chapter III 

THE SOMMB 

Magni^res, 
September 16. 

This time we are having an absolutely quiet day, 
and it is so long since we had the impression of a 
similar farniente that it seems quite funny to us to 
hear no longer the music of the guns and rifle-firing 
and to indulge in the careless indifference of life in 
rest-billets. 

Since that short sojourn among the pines of the Bois 
de Trois-Jambes, where we lived happy days, sea- 
soned by several thousands of shells, many things 
have happened. We returned to Saint-Die, and 
then set off in pursuit of the Boches, in the 
direction of the frontier. But they were entrenched 
between Saint-Die and the Col de Saales, and we 
■kept in contact with them for two days, in terrible 
weather. 

Ah! indeed, I shall remember the night of Sep- 
tember 12-13, when an icy rain fell and a violent 
north wind blew upon us as we stood, shivering and 
with chattering teeth, in the trenches, full of water 
and mud. 

On the 14th we sustained an attack beyond our 
89 



90 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

strength, and the battalion, which alone remained 
in line, lost, that day, quite a number of men. Once 
more I was lucky, my knapsack again being pierced 
by a bullet. We remained in a difficult position 
until 2 p.m. At that hour the major, to prevent 
his battalion being cut into little bits, ordered the 
retreat. 

That day, September 14, with its abominable 
weather, will remain one of the recollections of the 
campaign. Not since the Dijon fight have I seen death 
so near. 

At night we returned to Saint-Die, where we en- 
joyed the charm of rest-billets. The next day came a 
long march of 29 kilometres to Rambervillers, via 
devastated roads and villages completely in ruins — 
burnt, destroyed, and where, sometimes, only one or 
two roofs remained. 

This district has suffered terribly from the war! 

In the fields, little red hillocks mark the graves 
(surmounted by rude wooden crosses) which have 
been dug almost everywhere.^ Equipage and broken 
weapons lie here and there at the sides of the roads 
and in the ditches. 

Everywhere are evacuated trenches, fortifica- 
tions, shelters, barbed-wire entanglements, barricades, 
abatis, shell-craters — all the suggestive traces 
of the struggle which took place these last few 
days. 

A large number of dead horses, left in the fields, 
poison the air. 

This morning we came here, 12 kilometres from 
Rambervillers, and we are resting, enjoying this 
unwonted tranquillity unreservedly. 



THE SOMME 91 

September 20. 

We arrived yesterday at Clermont. We came 
here, to Fornival-rArgilliere, across a slightly un- 
dulating plateau, wholly composed both of exten- 
sive and small cultivated spaces, with little clumps 
of oaks or beeches at long intervals, and even real 
woods, which form dark barriers at the far ends of 
the tilled expanses. How this district differs from 
those we have just left! And still more from our 
parts — the real, already distant home-land of which 
I think daily, with the fear of thinking about it too 
much. 

Quartered in a huge isolated farm, we can barely 
hear the boom of the guns in the distance. What 
they intend us to do now I do not know. We are at 
a fresh seat of operations — the most serious of all. 
We live from day to day. His will be done ! 

September 22. 

It is beginning to get terribly cold, and it is not 
without dread that I see the inclement days of autumn 
approach. Kain, wind and cold are not the least of 
our enemies. 

I learnt yesterday that since September 2 I have 
been a lieutenant. 



September 25. 

What changes in our existence since the manceu- 
vres around Saint-Die ! We are far from the Vosges 
and their pines in these northern lands, so new to us. 



92 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

so different from those we know. But it is not with- 
out charm, this vast country of fertile plains, gently- 
undulating and intersected by woods, broad roads 
bordered with trees, or sluggish rivers, which wind 
through humid dales, adorned with magnificent trees. 
A rich and hospitable country, where we have received 
the best of welcomes. The people are intelligent, 
active, wide-awake, trained up to the laborious life 
of large agricultural undertakings — gigantic farms 
scattered in the midst of cultivated land, stretching 
out of sight. 

Or else there are populous, dense villages, with neat 
and elegant houses, almost always of a single storey, 
and with brick walls brightened up with white stones. 
Their interiors are well kept, clean, well-to-do, and 
often ornamented with very pretty old things : ancient 
china hung on the walls, pewter plate on the chimney- 
pieces, huge oak cupboards with thick sides, or massive 
clocks with chimes. 

To-day we are in contact with the enemy. No 
longer are we engaged in petty mountain warfare, 
such as we had in the Vosges, but in big engagements 
of several days, on huge fronts and extensive spaces, 
where you can see a great distance, and where the 
artillery has an immense range, which it sweeps in the 
most thorough manner. This has somewhat bewildered 
our chasseurs, who were hardly accustomed to manoeu- 
vres at altitudes between 150 and 320 feet above 
sea-level. 

Once more our battalion has been re-organized. 
It is now composed of eight companies. I command 
the 8th, and it is not a sinecure. Major Augerd 
has been promoted lieutenant-colonel. We are very 



THE SOMME 93 

sorry to have lost him, although Captain Foret, of 
the 140th, who replaces him, also appears to be very 
nice. 

There are, however, hours when you give yourself 
up to thoughts of home and of those you love; — 
those from whom you are separated, without news, 
perhaps indeed for a long time. — I think of the 
pleasant evenings within the family circle, of the 
familiar talk aimlessly prolonged at the fire-side in 
the evening; or else, on these damp or misty morn- 
ings of September, when the sun rises wholly red 
behind the lines of trees, I think of the beautiful 
autumn days in the fields of Lonnes, of the lumin- 
ous twilights in the great oaks at the hour when, 
calling to the dogs, you turn your steps towards the 
warm intimacy of the old house. — I think of you, 
of ourselves, of all that, of those thousand recollec- 
tions which crowd upon me as soon as the door is 
opened to them; and then I realize that I am here, 
lost in this ocean of men, delivered over to the 
mystery of my destiny. I feel the cold which makes 
my limbs tremble, the vacuity which invades me, and 
fear to be thrown into confusion and discourage- 
ment. 

At that moment I think of you, of Emile; I feel 
my rosary, always with me, in my pocket ; sometimes, 
in these moments, I tell a few Ave Maria, and confi- 
dence returns ; I hope for better days, for good follow 
the bad. I endeavour also to live each minute without 
thinking of more than that; to live from day to 
day. His will be done! 



94 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

September 26. 

All goes well. The battle continues — the great 
battle. Perhaps the great victory. 

There has been fierce fighting to-day; and it will 
continue to-morrow. But courage ! Confidence ! The 
Germans suffer and lose more men than we do. This 
is the time to put one's whole heart into the work. 
Vive la France! 

September 27. 

Here, our artillery, which was somewhat muzzled 
and placed at a disadvantage in the mountainous 
region of the Vosges, recovers its full value, and amidst 
these vast expanses, with low horizons, it shoots with 
certainty and efficiency. — What a splendid instru- 
ment our glorious 75 gun is! And how we little 
chasseurs and foot-soldiers love to hear behind us its 
fine big voice, encouraging us and urging us on to the 
attack! One feels full of confidence on hearing 
its sonorous rumbling; and on distinguishing, in 
the formidable symphony of the battlefield, the clear 
tone of its vibrating notes, one has the same 
pleasure as the sportsman who recognizes the pure- 
bred dog by his baying when on the track. How 
inelegant and "mongrel" the wretched little 77 of 
the Germans or their big clumsy howitzers are in com- 
parison ! They harm us all the same, and yesterday, 
in the 11th, we had not a few wounded, including 
three officers. 

At times, in the pauses of the guns, we hear the 
drumming of the partridges dispersed by the war. 



THE SOMME 95 

Morning and evening, on changing our positions, we 
raise big coveys, which, scared, fly away noisily and 
disperse in all directions. We even see some walking 
about alone, uneasy, in the ravaged fields, among the 
abandoned sheaves of corn, which are beginning to 
go mouldy. How pleasant it would be, these beautiful 
days, when the woods are beginning to tint, to set 
off with a good dog in pursuit of game, unconcerned 
by war and grape-shot ! I have often these thoughts 
of comfort, of family-life and the fire-side; and God 
knows how far off all that is. 

Better not to think of it, in order simply to do one's 
duty from minute to minute, without even troubling 
oneself over the question as to whether it is hard or 
easy to accomplish. 

September 28, in the trenches. 

We are again in the trenches since yesterday even- 
ing, after being two days in reserve. 

In this last attack the 11th again lost not a few men 
and several officers. We shall soon have not a 
single one left. How many lives this war will 
have cost us! But we must retain hope in victory, 
whatever may be the price we pay for it. Great sac- 
rifices strengthen and purify nations as they do indi- 
viduals. 

October 1, 1914, opposite Dompierre, west of Peronne 
{Somme). 

Notwithstanding the general optimism of the 
country, which circumstances seem to have justified, 
hostilities may last much longer than people thought 



96 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

at first. For though the formidable German offensive 
has been definitely shattered, its presumptuous plan 
checked, there still remains much work to be done to 
drive back these savages and make them go in the con- 
trary direction to the one they followed so rapidly, 
alas! on the roads of France. 

This district, where the smallest isolated object 
stands out several miles away, and where the artil- 
lery, once the range is known, sweeps open unob- 
structed expanses, is not very favourable to the move- 
ments of troops. Consequently, during the day we 
hardly stir. From lack of cover we create it by dig- 
ging deep trenches, in which we crouch like foxes, 
under pain of being immediately bombarded or saluted 
by the sharp smack of German bullets. All movements 
are made at night; and it is then we eat and that 
orders are sent. We have been living in this way for 
the past three days in the strong line of trenches we 
ourselves dug on coming to relieve the unities of the 
20th corps, which held the out-posts here. Six hun- 
dred metres in front of us are the outskirts of 
Dompierre, a big village spread out on the plain, 
which, after being occupied by the Germans, then 
taken by us, was again captured by them the day 
before yesterday. 

Along the whole length of the outskirts opposite 
us. Bavarian companies are entrenching as we are; 
and we spy at each other over the embankments, send- 
ing bullets every time a too inquisitive observer risks 
his }}eret or spiked-helmet above the protecting bank 
of earth. In this clear weather there is an 
almost continual exchange of bullets, whistling over 
our heads. . . . 



THE SOMME 97 

As to fatigue, during these days of almost com- 
plete inaction, we hardly feel it; at the most lack of 
sleep makes the eyelids somewhat heavy and the 
mind sluggish. It is cold we dread the most. Let 
us consider ourselves fortunate as long as it keeps 
fine, for rain is the worst thing of all under these 
conditions. 

Yesterday afternoon a big flock of sheep, aban- 
doned between the trenches and wandering about, 
was injured by the 105 mm. shells falling near it. Two 
wounded sheep remained on the ground near the 
trench occupied by my company, so I authorized 
two men to fetch them, by crawling through the 
beets. 

There and then they carried them behind a big 
stack of straw, where they skinned and cut them into 
quarters, which were divided among the company. 
The cooks in the village prepared them with the 
ordinary food, so that about two or three in the morn- 
ing I found myself nibbling a mutton chop, whilst 
stamping my feet under the stars. Strictly speaking, 
the chop was cold and its fat congealed, but in war- 
time—Eh ? 

This evening, at the advice of the major, I am 
going to try to have entrenched kitchens dug behind 
each section — kitchens sufficiently deep and broad 
to enable the cooks to move about in them at their 
ease and without being troubled by bullets or shells. 
At night-fall I shall send fatigue-parties to fetch 
wood, water, pots, and to get the rations; and I 
hope that they will be able to manage to do the 
cooking on the spot, in these holes. At any rate, in 
that way we shall eat our food warm, and in the 



98 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

present weather that will be very welcome. I have 
a few shrewd men in my company who will be able, 
I hope, to accomplish successfully this little enter- 
prize of installing battle-field kitchens. 

October 3. 

We are still living underground, somewhat after 
the manner of the mole or fox. Our mission is 
wholly defensive; the only thing we have to do 
is to hold our positions, without losing an inch of 
ground. 

I occupy the post of command of the first line 
trenches — a veritable subterranean cavern reached by 
a narrow passage, as well say a fox-hole. And here 
I live, well-protected, sleeping on straw, in the dim 
light of my den. 

I have a small staff around me: my orderly, three 
communication agents and three telephonists, in- 
stalled near to my hole, in other holes, also fairly 
comfortable. My station is connected with the 
major's by a telephone wire laid during the night, 
even with the ground. The post is connected in the 
same manner with that of the brigade, which is 
installed at the village of Cappy. In this way we 
can communicate during the day without laying 
ourselves open to the risk of being fired upon. A 
telephonist mounts guard permanently at the exit 
to my grotto, with a 'phone, which he hands me 
whenever they call for me, or when I myself have 
anything to say to the major. In that way I report 
to him what I see in the German lines and give him 
indications to rectify the firing of the artillery, the 
batteries of which, installed 1,800 to 2,000 metres 



THE SOMMB 99 

in the rear, are also connected to his station tele- 
phonically. At night, I communicate to him the in- 
formation collected by the patrols. 

Such is war in the twentieth century. By a curious 
irony, it has a certain resemblance to the life of primi- 
tive man. And yet what refinement in the means of 
destroying each other! 

Since we have been here we have ended in making 
ourselves relatively at our ease. I do not refer 
merely to my own station, which, arranged by the 
sappers, is a masterpiece of its kind, but to our whole 
organization. Little by little, the men have suc- 
ceeded in making for each a tiny dwelling in the 
collective trench, with benches to sit down on, rests 
for rifles, wooden screens against splinters, straw, 
branches and earth under which to shelter from 
fragments of shells. They have made holes in the 
parapet for the rifles, so as to be able to shoot 
without their heads showing over the top. Stacks 
of straw, which they place at night, furnish the 
bedding. 

Ah! Then there is the kitchen — the subter- 
ranean kitchen of which I am very proud. They are 
simply little masterpieces are the kitchens of the 8th 
company. The men, who avoid neglecting culinary 
matter, have taken a liking to this installation, and 
have arranged, in the rear of each section, a sort of 
subterranean room sufficiently large to be able to 
turn round in it, and sufficiently deep to prevent 
the bullets troubling them. They have covered 
the whole with planks, earth, straw, beets, — if need 
be with cloaks, — to make the light of their fires at 
night invisible. Therein they have arranged earthen 



100 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

hearths, and thus, two to three metres under ground, 
attend to their cooking, without troubling themselves 
any longer about grape-shot. The result is satis- 
factory, and at least, in that way, the men eat their 
food warm, which is not to be despised in such weather 
as this. 

October 4. 

Yesterday afternoon, the general of division sent 
an order to the major to attack the village of Dom- 
pierre, which the Germans occupy, and where they 
are firmly entrenched. Accordingly, I gave immedi- 
ate orders to the two companies and the machine- 
gun section of the first lines, and anxiously awaited 
the opening of this attack, the result of which terrified 
me in advance. As was to be foreseen, as soon as 
these first elements debouched they found themselves 
immediately under the fire of the Boche artillery, 
machine-guns and rifles, only part of which our fire 
could combat. Under these conditions progress was 
impossible. The attacking companies hung on to 
the ground and began there and then to dig themselves 
in, abandoning the forward movement, which con- 
demned them to a good dressing — ^to the last man. 
When night came, the colonel who commands our 
56th brigade brought the company back, leaving only 
a few men in the trenches to hold the conquered 
ground. That cost us twenty to thirty men Jiors de 
combat. 

We must live underground from the hour when 
the mists of morning rise until those of night descend. 
The day passes in observing, in listening to and in 



THE SOMMB 101 

studying the habits of the moles, earth-worms and 
other animals with which we fraternize. In my 
lair, last night, I was very puzzled by particles of 
earth falling from time to time from the roof on 
to the straw by niyj side. Eather anxious, I asked 
myself if my dwelling were threatening to collapse, 
and if I were about to be buried alive. This morn- 
ing, in daylight, the same phenomenon occurred, 
and I was quickly supplied by the reassuring 
explanation. It was due to the moles which, in 
excavating their tunnels, encounter my hole and 
pierce a window, through which they pour their 
surplus earth. Just now I have had to set to work 
several times to impose silence on one of these 
animals, which at all cost wished to have an opening 
into my grotto and persistently destroyed the bar- 
rage set up against him. There are also worms, 
enormous and slimy, which bore their canals through 
a soil in which they do not encounter a single stone. 
They spit at us horrible little earthy spirals which 
we see growing from tiny holes and which squash 
as they fall on our head or clothes. Finally, there 
are mosquitoes, and these, though the smallest, 
are the most troublesome of our associates. "Whence 
they come I cannot say, but their number increases 
daily, and now they are legion. And they are not 
the diminutive pattern of mosquitoes, — those for 
little girls with delicate skins; no, they are the 
fat and substantial species for vigorous adults, big 
eaters and steeped in vice, and whose bites swell 
and itch horribly. Their exasperating buzzing is in 
our ears day and night; and it is no use for me to 
ask the telephonist who stands at the entrance to 



102 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

my lair, smoking his cigarette, to send a few puffs of 
tobacco-smoke into my bedroom, for these devilish 
insects are only the more offensive. Decidedly, these 
mosquitoes are the ''bona fide article." 

In short, do not pity me, for I am not to be pitied. 
The hardest trial is not for us who live a life of 
action and have a part to play in the present drama. 
It is rather for you that the trial is cruel, for all those 
who remain chained to obscure duties, probably more 
meritorious than ours, and who are condemned to the 
torture of long days of anxiety and waiting, when 
the most enduring courage must find a difficulty in 
not being exhausted. 

October 6, in the trenches, opposite Dompierre. 

"We were told this morning to suspend any for- 
ward movement. The last night but one I had 
already marked out and begun a new line of trenches 
about 150 metres from the one I occupy. During 
that time the engineers dug a communication uniting 
my station to the trench itself. These interesting 
operations were to be continued to-night and the 
following nights, but now that fresh orders have 
come I no longer know when we shall resume our 
work. 

And so, as before, we burrow in our holes, slumber- 
ing or inspecting the neighbourhood. Some, heavy 
with sleep, recline on the straw; others, smoking, 
are thinking perhaps of something very vague; 
others again are sewing on buttons or mending tears 
in their clothes. A few are writing. Another group 
is holding an interminable conversation, returning 



THE SOMME 103 

indefinitely to the same subject. But you feel indeed 
that they are all somewhat in a state of lethargy. 
Life has slackened, physically and morally. The wick 
of the lamp has been turned down until it is but a 
night-light. This evening there will be a revival, 
the wick will again be turned up, and until to-morrow 
morning activity will reign. The Germans, moreover, 
do almost the same; during the day we see nobody 
in their trenches. But if one of our men shows 
himself a little too much, a whistling bullet comes 
to inform us that everybody, however, is not asleep 
over there. But at night-time they also leave 
their shelters; the village chimneys smoke here 
and there, showing, doubtless, where their kitchens are 
situated. 

Two or three nights ago two sentries of the 30th 
of the line, which occupies, on our left, trenches very 
near the German lines, were lucky enough to capture 
several Germans, who, carrying in the darkness a 
stew to their comrades, made a mistake over the 
trenches and brought it to the trench of the 30th. 
Seeing this, the sentries took care not to fire, but hid 
themselves in order to allow them to draw near ; and 
had only to jump out upon them to capture quite 
easily both cooks and stew-pots, which contained an 
excellent ragout de mouton that was most profitable 
to our gallant foot-soldiers. 

The days are grey, with a misty sky; a fresh 
breeze brings little squalls from the north and some- 
times in its train that fine clear spray which, since it 
hardly wets, is not to be called rain. 

How this weather carries back my recollections, in 
spit3 of myself, to similar autumn days spent at 



104 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

Lonnes, amidst those peaceful scenes whose smallest 
familiar details I can conjure up without an effort! 
I can see myself, under a sky absolutely like the one 
to-day, following the capricious track of a rabbit 
though the underwood of the Bois des Ayes; or else 
strolling under the great oaks of Fontaine-Froide, 
which are visited at this season by noisy flocks 
of ring-doves; or again at Fromenteau, listening 
to the baying of the hounds on the track of a 
fox, whilst the wind ripples the surface of the pond, 
raising as it passes the round leaves of the water- 
lilies ; or elsewhere, — no matter where. . . . There 
are so many spots I have visited, where I have left 
behind a little of myself that I could prolong this 
excursion without exhausting any part of my recol- 
lection. And then, there are all of you, gathered 
around the distant hearth. It is better not to think 
of that, but to see no further than these two earthy 
walls. . . ., 



October 10. 

This time I write to you no longer from the bottom 
of a trench, but from an interior the modesty of 
which does not prevent me appreciating its hospi- 
tality infinitely. At the corner of a stove, seated 
in a real chair, at a real table and under a real roof, 
I find myself transported to an imaginary world 
where I seem to be in a dream. That is because we 
lived for ten days and ten nights in the trenches. 
So, the evening before yesterday, we were relieved 
by another company which was resting here — ^the 



THE SOMME 105 

village of C , and we replaced it, to live a life of 

beatific tranquillity. 

But before our departure the Bodies, anxious to 
say au revoir to us, treated us to a little concert, in 
the village of Dompierre itself, a few hundred metres 
from our trenches. Their band played for nearly 
an hour, at night-fall, and in our lairs we heard, 
attentive and silent, the tol-de-rol of their pot- 
house ball coming from the centre of the village and 
awakening echoes in the shell-devastated country- 
side. With what a strange and indescribable pic- 
turesqueness this laboured and almost barbarous 
music was clothed at that hour and under such 
circumstances! ... It was a splendid opportunity 
for sending a few big 155 mm. shells into the midst of 
their fete. But our artillery men did not hear; we 
alone, in the advanced first-line trenches, had the 
privilege of this first and memorable hearing, of this 
unexpected concert opposite our trenches. What must 
be the mentality of these people? And why this 
street music at such a place? Is it done out of 
bravado or for swank ? Is it a means adopted by the 
officers of heartening their troops, whose keenness is 
considerably blunted? However that may be, this 
is not an isolated fact, but indeed a foreseen part 
of their complex organization for war. Anyway, I 
shall remember the execution — mediocre, morever — 
of their national German and Austrian hymns better 
than the most exquisite and best interpreted hours of 
music, listened to in the comfortable hollow of a 
stall. 

In this village of C , which, out of inexplicable 

respect, is spared by the German howitzers, we live 



106 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

in peace, enjoying the sweetness of all such, comfort- 
able rarities as fire, warmth, cooking just as you like, 
water to drink and especially to wash yourself with, 
and soap — good Marseilles soap which often gives 
more pleasure than a piece of bread after ten or 
twelve days underground. This village is paradise, — 
almost too beautiful and too good; for I note that 
well-being is not a good thing for the rank and file, 
and that the more comfortable men are the less you 
get out of them. I myself fee] remorse at delighting 
in this quietude ; and it seems to me that I'm no longer 
worth much when, as to-day, I've a mattress to sleep 
on, a roof over my head, and wherewith to satisfy my 
gluttony. 

Yesterday evening I dined at the major's table with 
the Abbe Paradis, whose kindred I know so well. 
This most sympathetic and devoted young priest is 
voluntary chaplain of the ambulance of the 28th 
division, and renders great service to all, riding on 
his bicycle all day from one to the other, with the 
Red Cross armlet on his left arm and the forage-cap 
of a military nurse on his head. He is arranging a 
military mass to be held to-morrow in the beautiful 

church of C , the interior of which has been silent 

for two months past, and where he hopes to gather 
together a certain number of soldiers to speak the 
good word and instill a new spirit into them in the 
true light of faith. He asked me (and I accepted 
with pleasure) to play the harmonium, if we are 
still here to-morrow. It was a real pleasure, and 
not one of the least of these days of repose, to con- 
verse with him and the major, to meet with conge- 
niality, ideas in common, and to feel, in the company 



THE SOMME 107 

of men of the same status and same ideas, a little more 
at home. 

But upon the whole we all here belong to the 
same family and sail towards the same harbour. 
Only, one has to be perfect in order never to feel 
more at ease with some than with others. This is 
the ideal of charity: to be as good, as benevolent, 
as devoted to all, without distinction and without 
giving way to the attraction of one's personal 
affinities. — ^Yes, but what would then become of 
friendship ? 

The days are exquisite, moderately warm and 
delicate in tint, equally different from the cru- 
dities of our summers and the gloom of winter. 
Imagination is quickly on the wing through this 
softened light towards all the familiar horizons of the 
little home-land, — towards the Grenoble valley, lazily 
stretched out in a bath of gentle sunshine, at the 
foot of the already torpid Alps, — towards the ruddy 
country of Lonnes, along which run yellowing 
forest-trees, where the game (at rest this year) 
shelter. 

Bah! come what may! "What matter, after all? — 
if really eternity lies before us, what matter life or 
death? It is but a little incident, a projection on 
our road which stretches towards infinity. In that 
case ... so much the worse! ... It is enough 
to carry out the duty of each day and of each 
moment if we know how to perform them. And 
then, often, what we desire the most is what we ought 
to fear, and inversely. We know nothing whatever; 
we live like a tiny piece of stray wreckage, tossed 
about on a limitless sea. And yet there is indeed a 



108 A CRUSADER OP FRANCE 

land we ought to reach, — some unknown shore, at an 
hour we cannot know. 



C- 



Octoher 11. 

A fine and happy Sunday this time, amidst the 
quietness of this little village with brick houses, and 
under a pale autumn sun. To-day, a true day of rest 
in all ways, has all the advantages of this season 
when the weather is fine. The sky, a timid blue, is 
every moment veiled by clouds which are almost mist ; 
the sun, whose too rare rays we court, is only moder- 
ately warm and already shy; the trees, variegated 
with gold and russet, are shedding their first leaves 
on the passage of northern winds ; the nights, coming 
too soon, are already long; the dawns sluggish and 
wrapped in fog. The general effect of this harmony 
is somewhat sad, but enveloping in its charm, which 
prepares the way for us towards the bitter cold 
of winter. 

Yet, however quiet the day may be, a low rumbling, 
as of a distant storm, comes to us from time to time 
from behind the extensive horizons; or else, sud- 
denly, the savage roar of cannon rends the air 
quite near the houses which shelter us, and remind 
us of the facts, of the reality from which we wish to 
escape. 

I believe I told you yesterday of the military 
mass which the Abbe Paradis intended to say this 
morning. We had this soldiers' mass. Numbers 
of them came from here, from the nearest villages, 
and even from the trenches in the firing-line, where 



THE SOMME 109 

a few were authorized to seek this satisfaction. They 

came in such numbers that this church of C had 

a difficulty in holding them all. Very meditative and 
fervent, they assisted at this mass celebrated for them ; 
listened with fervent attention to the few generous 
and manly words spoken by the chaplain; and sang 
with their unskilful voices a few of those old hymns 
which all little French boys have learnt to know. 
A most touching ceremony, I assure you, was this 
mass, piously followed by four or five hundred 
soldiers of all arms and ranks, with the priest assisted 
by two captains, an artilleryman and a doctor, and 
those prayers repeated by every mouth — prayers for 
Prance, and the flag, prayers for all the comrades 
already left behind, prayers for those left at home, 
for parents, the old people, the women, the children, 
and for all the weak ones who have not the happiness 
to be able to work with the others. 

Many came there, many confessed and received the 
Holy Communion who for long years had not directed 
their footsteps to church, — forgotten through negli- 
gence, or deserted through egoism or self-interest. 
Here all these smallnesses disappear, trial has swept 
them away, and left to one's own resources every one 
here seeks for a support which he finds nowhere 
else. 

War, to say the least, possesses, like all great sacri- 
fices, an undoubted purifying virtue. Eegeneration 
comes through sacrifice and suffering. 

In addition to the hymns, ''Nous voulous Dieu!" 
and "Pitie, mon Dieu!" popular tunes well-known 
to all which I accompanied to the best of my ability, 
we had a choice piecC;, Gounod's Ave Maria, admir- 



110 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

ably sung by a tenor of the Opera-Comique, who is a 
mere chasseur of the second class in a battalion near 
our own. 

Two other masses — one at eight, the other at ten 
o'clock, and both the usual ones of the parish — again 
brought together more soldiers than civilians. 

This is the first time since the beginning of the war 
that we have spent a real Sunday and have been able 
to make it something like the Lord's Day. But, after 
all, you always do well when you perform your duty, 
and there is doubtless still more merit in spending 
•a Sunday under fire or in the trenches, if you con- 
duct yourself worthily, than in church and far from 
action. If God permits war the best way of serving 
Him is to wage it and perform above all one's duty 
as a soldier. 

October 14. 

Once more dawn to-day found me in the trenches 
of Dompierre. A sad morning after such beautiful 
days ! If it is true that in this district fine and bad 
weather come in equally long periods, this grey sky 
from which an impalpable but persistent rain descends 
is a somewhat disquieting prospect and threat. I 
dread this horrible autumn rain, which will convert 
our trenches into muddy, slippery and insalubrious 
ditches, almost more than bullets. Trench life is 
about to become arduous. But one must not com- 
plain — one ought not, moreover, ever complain. 
We have just spent five days of complete rest in 
billets, where every one has been able to recruit his 
strength. 



THE SOMME 111 



October 16, in the trenches before Dompierre. 

Yesterday I reeived the visit of Major Messimy, 
ex-Minister of War, who is attached to the staff of the 
14th corps. He came as far as the most advanced 
trench, took an interest in all our work, inquired about 
our health, revictualling and moral, which appeared 
to him to be satisfactory. 



C , 

October 18. 

Again we are in this village, a place of rest and 
delight where the companies come in turn to recruit 
their strength between two periods of trench-life. 

By the reconstitution of the 51st, which, since 
September 1, was merged in the 11th, we have lost 
a large part of the battalion. Consequently, the 
companies of the 11th are considerably reduced. 
Fortunately, I myself remain with the 11th, the 
command of the 6th company of which I retain. 
These incessant modifications, which oblige us to 
change officers and men, — to leave our men at the 
very moment we were beginning to know them, to 
become attached and take an interest in them, con- 
stitute one of the most disagreeable features of the 
campaign. 

We are being re-equipped. Clothes, shoes and 
camp equipage are sent us; we are furnished with 
warm things for the winter: knitted vests, belts, 
socks, coverlets, etc. This makes us anticipate a cam- 
paign prolonged still further into the cold season. 
To-day again we have received a whole consignment 



112 A CEUSADEE OF FRANCE 

of warm clothing, the gift of the City of Lyons. 
People are thinking about us over there; and it is 
with gratitude and emotion that we put on these 
articles of clothing knitted for us by you and all the 
dear ones we have left at home. 

As on Sunday last, we had this morning a military 
mass, attended by a crowd of soldiers of all kinds. 
On this occasion it was a violinist of the grand "Wit- 
kovsky concerts of Lyons who played some very fine 
pieces. His violin, borrowed from the village 
watchmaker, had a very distant relationship to a 
pure-toned Stradivarius, but the executant's skill 
saved the mediocrity of the instrument, and, in 
brief, the result, under present circumstances, was 
excellent. 

It is cold. Flocks of starlings and ring-doves pass 
swiftly across the grey sky. This points already to 
winter, — ^winter with its austere and silent poetry. 

October 21, in the trenches east of C . 



Letters arrive decidedly better since we have been 
in the north. Happy moments are felt in the trench 
when the men on fatigue-duty return from the village, 
bringing with them the little oblongs of white paper 
on which we quickly recognize the familiar handwrit- 
ing. I could not express the magnitude of my loss 
if these letters were to stop coming; and I pity from 
the bottom of my heart those poor beggars, without 
either families or homes, who never have this con- 
solation. They possess ten times more merit than we 
do, for a letter from home makes one forget many 
things. 



THE SOMME 113 

The war has considerably changed since the begin- 
ning, and the days we have been living the past month 
hardly resemble those we spent in the Vosges. There, 
there were daily fights, attacks, bayonet charges in 
the pine-woods against an invisible enemy. Those 
were the bloody days of Dijon and of Launois, where 
we left so many men and officers on the field. Here 
it is almost siege warfare, — the economical defensive, 
in which it is no longer a question of gaining 
much ground, but of holding it and avoiding losses in 
men. 

That is quite different. And then we must in- 
deed recognize that we have profited by the war, and 
that, at our expense, the Germans have taught us 
many things. It is painful and somewhat humiliating 
to have to admit that they have taught us the art 
of warfare, but we must do so. The utility of in- 
trenchments and the way to organize them, the use of 
artillery and the indisputable importance of batteries 
of heavy guns — these and many other things they 
have taught us since the beginning. But alas, expe- 
rience will have cost us dear. 

We must persevere until the end, for it is now a 
question of perseverance. The one that can stand the 
wear and tear the longest (moral as much as, if not 
more than, physical wear and tear) will gain the vic- 
tory. "Whatever comes will be by the will and per- 
mission of God. 

What the supreme good is, we cannot know in 
this life, — blind mortals that we are. All we can 
know is that everything which happens is for the best 
if we will only accept it as the decision of God, 
who is wisdom and goodness. Nevertheless, for it 



114 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

is easy to reason about infinity, I should like my 
presence in this world never to be the cause of any 
suffering for you whom I love most; I should like 
you not to be anxious about me during these weeks 
and months of trial, and also that you should rejoice 
as much as possible at everything fortunate which 
comes my way, even in this time of war. For every- 
thing is relative. Am I not to be envied being in 
good health, when so many others are suffering 
physically? Have I not everything that a soldier on 
campaign can desire the most: the certainty of the 
deepest and most disinterested affection, whose echo 
is often brought me in letters? Have I not also, in 
addition to bodily health, peace of mind, since, being 
indispensable to no one materially, I have only to 
think of my soul, which neither bullets nor shells can 
touch ? 



Octoher 22. 

We get used to everything — even to the fox-like 
existence we have been leading here for more than 
three weeks. We occupy ourselves daily in perfecting 
the trenches, so as to turn them into real redoubts — 
little mole-cities with passages which connect the frag- 
ments of trenches one with the other, lead to the 
kitchens, the posts of command, etc. You can walk 
for half-hours in a veritable labyrinth of trenches, 
excavated the height of a man. 

In certain trenches, where the irrepressible fancy 
of the French soldier has been freely exercised, little 
pieces of wood stuck in the clay walls at the bifur- 
cation of passages serve as sign-boards, worded 



THE SOMMB 115 

humoiiristieally. Not only do I authorize these orna- 
ments, but I am glad of them, as a favourable indica- 
tion of an excellent moral. To be always on the point 
of chaff — under all circumstances even the most criti- 
cal — is one of the characteristics of the French mind. 
Even on the worst days, I have noticed what close 
neighbours jocularity and tears are, and how some- 
times they succeed each other rapidly. Is this a defect ? 
Sometimes perhaps. 

The Germans, who are at the antipodes of this turn 
of mind, make it one of the greatest reproaches they 
address to us by declaring with a sort of disdain that 
the French are "frivolous people." But in spite 
of their opinion, or even because of it, we French 
stand up for our ancient Gallic blood, and we 
alone know how to estimate its value, as we 
alone know how to taste as connoisseurs our good 
French wines. So much the worse for all the stupid 
sausage-eaters and rigid doctors with gold-rimmed 
spectacles. 

October 23. 

A little sunshine by chance. Almost a, warm day 
with a southern breeze. Fine weather for the larks 
which sport in the light, as well as for the aeroplanes 
which pass and repass in all directions since this morn- 
ing. In such weather life in the trenches is not very 
hard. 

I hear to-day that I have been made a captain. 
What an honour! I never thought, on receiving 
my first stripe, that I should obtain the third so 
quickly. 



116 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 



C- 



Octoier 25. 

This is the third Sunday we have spent here, at 
rest, — enjoying the pleasures of a quiet day and tak- 
ing delight in the healthy dominical joys of the mass 
of which we have been deprived so long. 

For every Sunday there is now a military mass at 
six o'clock, and each time there is something better 
than on the preceding occasion. This time we had the 
buglers of the battalion, whom the major authorized 
to stand in the gallery, where, on the elevation of the 
host, they sounded the general and, at the end of 
the mass, merrily played the refrain of the 11th 
battalion. Almost only officers at this mass. The 
colonel commanding the brigade, with his staff- 
officers, in the first row; then the officers of the artil- 
lery, the chasseurs, the engineers, the infantry, and 
the doctors; the whole forming a variegated line of 
blue, red and black. 

This morning, besides the buglers, we have had some 
pretty violin and harmonium pieces, and songs in two 
parts; and all full of such generous feeling and 
good will that in spite of all it was almost good 
music. 

The good Abbe Paradis, who exerts himself to the 
utmost, is delighted. He addresses little speeches full 
of enthusiasm to the gatherings of soldiers. If we 
are still here on All Saints' Day, he intends to or- 
ganize a mass chanted to music. Because this All 
Saints' Day, which will never have counted so 
many recent dead, never seen so much recent mourn- 
ing, will be for all a touching ceremony and an 



THE SOMME 117 

occasion for prayers. The death-roll will be long this 
year. 

"We shall soon have been here a month. Although 
everything has not come to an end, and the faithful 
75 's, like good watch-dogs, utter from time to time 
their harsh barks amidst the stillness of this beauti- 
ful autumn, one nevertheless enjoys here an impres- 
sion of rest, after the arduous days of the Vosges, 
where we were always in a iflutter, always at the mercy 
of rifle bullets or a bombardment, and where 
hardly a day passed without gaps being made in our 
ranks. 

I told you the day before yesterday of my pro- 
motion to a captaincy. At my age, this is a very 
great honour, and I tendered my warmest thanks 
to the major. Up to now my company has not done 
badly; but since the command was entrusted to me 
we have never had a very dangerous mission; and I 
am waiting, to know what it is worth, until I have 
seen it under fire. I do not wish for it, because days 
of battle are cruel. But it is none the less true 
that they form men and that it is only then we 
see of what they are capable. One must not wish 
for or desire anything, but accept wisely whatever 
happens and strive to conduct oneself as well as pos- 
sible. But I trust I possess good elements. Above 
all, I should like to have my men's confidence and 
esteem; only in that way can you obtain authority, 
and you must set an example to lead those you 
command. 

Stripes, in war time, bring far more duties than 
rights. To be a good N.C.O. and a good officer, you 
must possess many and very rare qualities: devo- 



118 A CEUSADEE OF FRANCE 

tion, determination, courage, intelligence, common 
sense, coolness, and I know not what besides; as a 
matter of course, one must have all qualities, be 
perfect, as in all callings when you would fill them 
properly. 

Consequently you must not count on yourself 
but on the grace of God. Only in that way, 
under such circumstances as the present, can you 
find the means of doing your duty. You realize that 
you are nothing yourself, that you can do nothing 
by your own strength, and that you must make 
yourself a docile instrument in the hands of your 
Maker. Ah! how virtuous one must be to act 
well! 

October 31. . 

Here we are on the eve of All Saints' Day. This 
feast, so full of sweet consolation for those who 
believe in eternity, is to be celebrated this year with 
more fervour than ever. 

There is so much fresh mourning since last All 
Saints' Day. Notwithstanding its sadness, it is one 
of my favourite feasts, because it is one of those 
which reminds us the best of all the strength and pro- 
found peace we can find in faith. This year, much 
more than in former years, it will be an oppor- 
tunity to seek that courage, resignation and hope 
which are necessary to all of us in order to proceed 
unfalteringly to the end of the trial which God de- 
mands of us. At the same time it will be a means of 
uniting us more closely in prayer, which knows not 
separations. 



THE SOMME 119 

To-morrow morning you will be going to mass all 
together; you will communicate piously and pray 
for us. 

When, afterwards, you return home for that feast- 
day lunch which I recall as one of our joyful times 
for assembling, you will again think of us, — of Jean, 
whose whereabouts I know not, and of me who cannot 
fulfil, on this feast day, to my great regret, my duties 
as a Christian. 

But my first duty at this time is my duty as a sol- 
dier, — it sums up all others. 

As on recent Sundays, the Abbe Paradis has 

organized for to-morrow at C something superb, 

with choirs, a military band, and I know what what 
besides. I should have loved dearly to be present, to 
pray and to communicate with the others. 

Since that is impossible, I shall spend my All 
Saints' Day in the trenches. God hears prayers no 
matter whence they are offered up to Him. 1 shall 
ask Him to protect us all, to grant you His grace, and 
to lead every one of us under His protection until we 
meet again, for we know that this meeting — wherever 
it may be — will come. 

The autumn here is beautiful. There has often 
been a threatening sky, but up to now none of those 
interminable downpours which last weeks. 

It is somewhat cold. The generosity of those (man 
and woman alike) who, like you, remain at home 
foresaw this trial, and the woollen goods sent us are 
much appreciated at this time. 

My company and I occupy a new trench, quite near 
the German lines. This nearness has the advantage 
of sheltering us from the artillery, but, on the other 



120 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

hand, it exposes us more to bullets. My company, 
which had suffered no losses for a long time, 
had a man killed yesterday; and but a few moments 
ago another was shot dead, a yard from the spot 
where I am writing, whilst he was watching a German 
head opposite and was getting ready to aim at it. 
The German foresaw it and sent a bullet which, pass- 
ing through the loop-hole, went right through his 
head. He died immediately, without pain and without 
a moan. If I am to die in warfare, I would die like 
he did — swiftly, without either the dread (he was 
in the act of joking) or the suffering of the pangs of 
death. 

Such is war. Daily neither funny nor cheerful. 
But here, as everywhere, everything happens accord- 
ing to the will of God. Every one's destiny is to be 
fulfilled. You have only not to fret, but place your- 
self in the hands of Him who cherishes and watches 
over us every second. 

Last night, the Germans, doubtless to prevent us 
sleeping, if we had had a desire to do so, made us 
acquainted with a new engine, or rather an old engine 
of former wars, which they have brought back into 
use for this trench warfare, so similar to that of 
three or four hundred years ago. It relates to 
bombs which they hurl from their trenches by means 
of an apparatus which must be a sort of catapult, 
or propeller with a string. The projectile, launched 
at a great angle, describes a very high trajec- 
tory, which the lighted fuse shows by a luminous 
line, and, falling anywhere, bursts twenty to thirty 
seconds afterwards . with an infernal noise. The 
first they sent surprised and somewhat frightened 



THE SOMME 121 

us. Then we saw that these playthings fell hap- 
hazard, with great uncertainty of aim, and that, more- 
over, they made more noise than they did harm. 
These bombs sent in all directions grains of black, 
dirty and ill-smelling powder, with earth, but after 
all not really deadly unless you are just where they 
fall. In addition, considering the system of propul- 
sion, there is no precision of aim, and it is only by 
chance that one of these bombs can fall right into 
the trench. Nevertheless, one of my men was sur- 
prised and killed last night by one of these wretched 
engines. 

A curious fact: this soldier was to come before a 
court-martial. I had had the sad business of drawing 
up the accusation. 

The poor wretched fellow is wholly judged. 

Novevnber 1. 

A beautiful sunny day and almost warm for this 
All Saints' Day feast which we spend at the bottom 
of our trenches, for the Germans are quite near and 
their bullets whistle spitefully on a level with the 
parapets. 

November 2. 

Yesterday, at nightfall, I received your letter ap- 
prising me of the much-dreaded truth regarding our 
Jean. On reading your admirable letter, on that 
All Saints' Day evening, I could bu^t repeat, in a 
whisper and whilst the tears flowed, the humble prayer 
in which all our thoughts are resumed: God's will be 
done ! 



122 A CEUSADER OP FRANCE 

What can I myself think and say more Christianly 
resigned than what yon think and say yourselves? 
All that you have taught us, since our birth, to know 
and to love, — all that our poor experience has rooted 
in our souls, — all our faith, can bring us nothing more 
consoling and surer than this blind submission to the 
will of God. 

And then, as you also say, he is henceforth shel- 
tered from the only real dangers, the only real suffer- 
ing, the only real wretchedness; he has reached, a 
little sooner than ourselves, the great day of deliver- 
ance towards which we are all travelling obscurely, 
and the certainty of knowing that he has entered into 
eternal peace is indeed what will best enable you to 
support this trial. 

For one must submit to it; inure ourself to this 
habit, however hard it may seem, of renouncing all 
the material bonds which attached him to us and us 
to him. Alas! poor mortals that we are, these 
bonds cling so tightly to our hearts that the wound 
bleeds painfully when Providence permits them to 
be broken; and notwithstanding all the reasons 
for hope — nay, almost joy — ^which faith brings, we 
groan in our weakness as the reed bends before the 
wind. 

Yes, God's will be done . . . and may God Him- 
self grant us the grace to accept, with humble sub- 
mission, if not with the joy of the Angels, the pain 
which it pleases Him to demand from us as the 
mysterious redemption of a more real misfortune, that 
our veiled eyes cannot behold. "We are nought 
but weakness, and our sole thought when face to face 
with trial should be to abandon ourselves to (and in 



THE SOMME 123 

a manner to crouch within) His will, whence spring 
all strength and courage. 

Let us incessantly centre our thoughts on Eternity 
which awaits us all. By passing through the transi- 
tory life of this world we do not pay too dearly for it. 
For an infinity, God demands of us, after all, only 
small sacrifices. We do not know how to thank Him 
enough for not making the trial by which we pur- 
chase the happiness of a whole eternity harder. And 
then, is not suffering the very condition of life? So 
much so that, if we were absolutely wise, we ought 
to rejoice at having to suffer, whilst thinking of the 
infinite value of this suffering. 

But how well I feel, alas! that we cannot escape 
from pain; that it is inevitable and manifold, and 
that we encounter it everywhere on our path. We 
must not seek to avoid it. We must face it bravely, 
strong in the divine grace which can do everything 
for us, and perform our duty with invincible confi- 
dence. Since we are all soldiers on the same battle- 
field, we must resolutely and firmly accept the 
struggle, and guard against all thought of cowardice 
or drawing back. That is the price of victory. When 
we are fighting for the victory we know, what sacrifice 
can frighten us? Let us pray, — let us pray as fer- 
vently as possible . . . and then, let us leave God 
to lead us where He pleases. 



Novem'ber 4, in fhe trenches. ^ 

So the die is cast. After having experienced the 
crucifying anguish of uncertainty, we are now faced 
by the hard truth. Without doubt, this living silence 



124 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

was well designed to justify every apprehension ; and 
like yon I long since dreaded what has happened. But 
until the day when the indisputable proof lies before 
one, there is always room for a little hope, even 
against every probability, because our soul is created 
to hope. 

On receiving papa's sorrowful letter, on the even- 
ing of that sad All Saints' Day, I did not experience 
a great surprise but only intense grief, whilst thinking 
of your sorrow. 

Like you, I am certain that Jean is now in se- 
curity and blessed forever. "We all of us possess the 
consoling certainty that God has well received this 
most upright, most humble and honest soul. And 
why not envy him in thus departing, without having 
to blush at anything, carrying to eternity his fresh 
and candid soul — the spotless soul of children whom 
God suffers to come unto Him. 

November 6. 

Here we are, out of our trenches and once more on 
the way, along the main-roads, towards an unknown 
destination. 

We are setting off again on a fine warm day, re- 
gardless of what to-morrow holds in reserve for us. 

The task of living is now ours; for Jean, release 
has come. "We all know what his pure soul, without 
a tarnish, without a cloud, was. It seems as though 
God had wished to take it back again before its bloom 
was touched by the world's ugliness and darkness. Is 
not that, somewhat, what is called predestination? 
How he must pity us for not knowing that we ought 
to rejoice over his lot! 



THE SOMMB 125 

The suffering there is in this departure is all for 
those who remain. We are therefore the only 
victims; and one ends by fearing that it may be 
egoistic to suffer in the presence of what makes 
the happiness of our friends. Besides, life is so 
short, that, after all, the day and hour when each of 
us escape from it matters little. Is there not for all, 
in the beginning and at the end, the nothingness of 
matter, the redoubtable and consoling mystery of im- 
mortality ? 

Last night, under a cloudy moonlit sky, we left 

C asleep around its stone steeple. By a muddy 

road, between rows of slender leafless poplars, along 
the Somme Canal, we came to Mericourt, where we 
strut to-day during a period of momentary rest, until 
the fate reserved for us is made known. 



Mericouet, 
November 10. 

Since we have been here, fog reigns over the 
whole of this melancholy district, to which the 
autumn season, with its grey tints and dead leaves, 
adds a certain strange and discreetly penetrating 
charm. 

On Sunday we had several masses, attended by 
numerous chasseurs. In the afternoon the Cure of 
this place organized a procession to the tomb where 
the French soldiers who died at the end of August, 
when the Germans passed, before the Battle of the 
Marne, are buried. It is a collective tomb, which the 
people here have raised on the very spot where 
our comrades died, and which they piously keep in 



126 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

order. This procession (almost entirely composed of 
chasseurs) past the tomb of their unknown comrades 
was most touching. There was a little address by the 
Cure, who laid a wreath on the tomb of the French; 
then another on that of the Germans. 



8 p.m. 

We have just been informed that we are to leave 
to-morrow morning at three for an unknown desti- 
nation. No matter; we shall see. By the grace of 
God! 



PLANDERS 



Chapter IV 

FLANDERS 

On the railway near Hazeerouck. 
November 12, 6 p.m. 

We have had a breakdown, in the middle of the 
line, since one in the afternoon, and are lucky to 
have got out of the accident which stopped us here 
so cheaply. 

Leaving Merieourt at eleven o'clock, we covered 
by road the twelve or thirteen kilometres which 
separated us from Villers-Bretonneux, where we 
entrained at nine o'clock, in the midst of the 
night, and at the very moment a deluge of rain — of 
short duration, however — began to fall. After the 
formation of the train (a fairly laborious operation 
in the rain and at a station which was not primarily 
intended for the embarkation of troops with their 
convoys), we started about eleven o'clock. Via 
Amiens and Abbeville, we rolled along the whole 
night, and at about seven this morning reached 
Boulogne, where we made the acquaintance of the 
North Sea, rather rough but majestic in this very 
windy weather. Unfortunately, the line deviates 
from the water's edge immediately, and, having 
saluted in passing the forest of masts in the fishing 

129 



130 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

port and the equally novel appearance of this mari- 
time town, we crossed a curious country, where 
immense watery tracts, divided into squares by a 
multitude of little ditches full of water, stretch behind 
what look like grassy sand-dunes. In the midst of 
the meadows, low houses with brick walls form isolated 
spots of colour; whilst here and there are clumps of 
trees, and even true woods. To these rather austere 
regions flocks of crows and a few very dark coloured 
cows add a little life and movement. Elsewhere, the 
drained and cultivated swamps are being transformed 
into beet-fields. 

In that way we reached Calais; then, without hav- 
ing seen anything of this town save roofs and church 
steeples, we were off to Saint-Omer. All along the 
line we several times passed small detachments of 
Belgian soldiers, who, standing in their long 
black great-coats with yellow lapels and wearing on 
their heads the classic forage-cap, cheered us as we 
went by. 

At Saint-Omer we fraternized with a trainful of 
English troops, who happened to be stopping there 
at the same time as ourselves. The English are 
admirable. Their excellent equipment, their uni- 
form entirely in supple khaki, their easy manners, 
their impeccably shaven faces, their cleanliness, their 
perfect coolness — all this excited our curiosity and 
admiration to the highest degree. They trouble 
themselves, besides, very little over what happens 
and is said around them, and put their hands in 
their pockets, giving one a magnificent impression 
of a bona fide, solid and eminently comfortable 
article. 



FLANDERS 131 

All the men and the officers possess, with freedom 
of movement, that suppleness which all have acquired 
in the long practice of physical exercises, cricket or 
football. The men seem very young and their close- 
shaven faces, as is the case with almost all of them, 
make them look still younger. The officers, whose 
clothing — very finished, although devoid of luxury 
properly so-called — realizes that elegance and comfort 
called le chic anglais, have the air of being entirely 
at home here, shaving in their compartments, smok- 
ing big cigars with bands, or drinking tea. One 
asks oneself how it is that these people manage to 
make themselves so well and so quickly at their ease 
everywhere. 

The train in question, which left Saint-Omer 
before us, stopped, I cannot say for what reason, a 
little before the Hazebrouck station. Our train, 
following it closely, was unable to draw up in time 
and ran into the end of theirs. Three or four 
wagons were partly destroyed, but as they for- 
tunately contained only stores the battalion had 
no losses in men. On the other hand, the English 
train and its occupants suffered greater injury. 
Two were killed and several injured, more or less 
seriously. 

We had there a sad opportunity of once more 
admiring their fine organization, the comfort and 
efficiency of their army medical service, and the 
splendid self-possession they maintain under all 
circumstances. 

Decidedly, the English are sympathetic allies. 
So much the more as we in France utter useless 
phrases, so much the more do they seem to be 



132 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

sparing in their gestures and words. But what a 
marvellous equipment! And their commissariat! 
The wagons are full of packing-eases of biscuits and 
tinned foods. You should have seen them at Saint- 
Omer making tea, with their customary composure, 
in pannikins, on the station platform. 

November 13. 

Here we are, this time, right in Belgium. The 
train landed us about midnight at Bailleul. From 
there we were taken by a convoy of English motor- 
buses, and, after having travelled two kilometres 
on foot along a narrow paved road, between two 
rows of magnificent trees, we landed at 4 a.m. in the 
village of Dickebusch, five kilometres south-west of 
Ypres. 

Not wildly joyful, this first contact with Belgium. 
First of all, the weather is wretched; and then this 
village of Dickebusch sums up all the sadness and 
wretchedness of war. Along these muddy streets, 
although entirely paved, passes a constant stream 
of troops of all sorts. Cavalry-men, hussars, dra- 
goons go by in little groups; artillery-men travel 
along, jolted on their military wagons; British 
motor-ambulances pass, covered with grey tarpau- 
lins; and finally, almost everywhere, dispatch- 
riders, cyclists covered with mud from head to foot, 
detachments of crippled soldiers of all arms, staff 
motor-ears — ^in brief, a motley and busy swarm of men. 
All march past sadly but courageously in these rutty 
streets, between brick houses crowded with troops and 
refugees. 



FLANDERS 133 

I write to you from the low room of a Flemish 
house. There is a regular crowd here of women, 
young girls with moon-shaped faces, restless and 
weeping children. A few silent men sit smoking 
short pipes, with their eyes fixed on the tiled floor. 
Everything is novel, strange and striking. The 
people elbowing each other here (Flemish refugees 
for the most part) are taciturn. They have many 
reasons for being sad. And yet they have rather 
the air of submitting to events passively, with a sort 
of inertia without revolt. You would imagine they 
do not reflect and have not even need of resigna- 
tion to accept their sad lot, because they have no clear 
consciousness of their misfortune. Strange country, 
and strange inhabitants! How different they are! 
They do not speak French, or very little, and hardly 
know any other language than the Flemish. 
Is it this difficulty in communicating with others, 
or else is their race so fashioned? One can 
clearly perceive from their very lively physiognomy 
and bright restless eyes that it is concealing itself 
there behind a soul; but it seems far off and one 
asks oneself what is the hidden way which leads 
there. 

Poor folk — poor Belgians, whom this terrible war 
has swept away like these howling autumn winds 
have swept along the dead leaves! What recollec- 
tions these children, whom mothers or big sisters 
rock in their arms without being able to stop their 
tears or calm their cries, will have later on, when 
they are grown up! A first and somewhat morose 
contact with this land of Flanders, where the 
rain falls and the bitter wind blows, whilst the 



134 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

window-panes tremble at the crash of cannonades 
close by. 

November 16. 

What tumult, what thunder under this sky across 
which big clouds, driven by an icy wind, are racing! 
Since we have been here, in the land of windmills and 
giant elms, there has been a perpetual crashing of 
shells, which fall almost everywhere. But you get 
used to everything — even to this diabolical music. 

We are — my company at least — in a Flemish farm 
on the outskirts of the village of Groot-Vierstaat, 
where the daily bombardment heaps up each day 
fresh ruins and lights fresh fires. All around us the 
meadows are full of huge shell-holes made by the 
German 105 's and 150 's — nay even the 210 's. Con- 
sequently, on the very first day, I had trenches dug, 
so that our men could shelter in them during the 
day. For it has been a perfect nightmare to me to 
think what it would be like if one of these terrible 
projectiles were to fall on the house where the com- 
pany shelters when we were all assembled inside. At 
night the howitzers remain silent and allow us to re- 
occupy our quarters. 

November 21, in the trenches before Wytschaete. 

The Germans are more aggressive here than at 
Cappy. On the very first night they made a bayonet 
charge on our lines, shouting. They were received by 
a terrible firing which killed or wounded a certain 
number of them; the others turned tail. Since that 
attack the meadow opposite the section of my 



FLANDERS 135 

company whicli received it is ornamented with half a 
score of scattered bodies; certain of them even fell 
quite near us, only one or two yards from the trenches. 
Lugubrious neighbours! 

We are marvellously well supported by our artil- 
lery, which is in great numbers behind us and opens 
a hellish fire at the least firing. 

Behind our trench there still remains a bit of a 
house where, at night, we can make a fire in the still 
intact stove, on condition great precautions are taken 
to hide the light. That, at any rate, enables us to 
warm tea or coffee for the men; for as the cooking 
is done very far off the food reaches the trenches 
absolutely cold. The weather has been very bitter 
for two days past. Last night some of my men got 
frozen feet and I had to have them carried away on 
stretchers. The cold is the hardest thing we have to 
support at the present time. 

I live in a hole, in the rear of the front of my 
company. The earthen walls of my habitation tremble 
every moment through the formidable bursting of 
the German marmites} I expect every minute to 
be buried alive in my shelter. — God's will be 
done! — Owing to the cold benumbing my fingers and 
these shells, writing is difficult. — ^Let us pray for each 
other. 

November 25. 

On Sunday evening we were released from the 

1 Literally ' ' stew-pots ' ' — the French soldier 's name for 

the German shells ; the equivalent of ' ' Jack Johnsons, ' ' 

etc., in the parlance of the British soldier. — Translator's 
note. 



136 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

trenches in order to send us into quarters at the 
small village of Mille-Kruist, three or four kilo- 
metres in the rear, where the next day we received 
the young recruits of the 1914 class, together with 
a certain number of the wounded in the early days 
of the war, and who now return cured. — The young- 
sters appear to have less go in them than I should 
have thought. It is true it was very cold and that 
the poor fellows have been on the frozen roads since 
they landed at Dunkirk three days ago. . . . Many 
things, it is true, contribute to it: the cold, the 
damp, physical and mental lassitude; the terrible 
routine which creeps in here as everywhere. It is 
the inevitable wear and tear for men as for things. 
But in all this the soul alone matters; the body, if 
healthy and normal, will go anywhere the soul (if it 
is of a certain temper) leads it. The essential qualities 
are will-power, character, and perseverance. These 
ought to be durable. 

The Chasseurs Alpins (the last to arrive on this 
front, where all the varieties of French metropolitan, 
colonial or British troops have fought) were welcomed. 
And the prisoner we made during the night attack 
last week confessed to us that it had been a disagree- 
able surprise to the Germans to find once more 
before them the herds already met with in the 
Vosges, and that they had immediately noticed, to 
their cost, that our shooting was much more accu- 
rate than that of the red-breeches. You see one 
always remains proud of one's arm, and, even here, 
we retain a somewhat childish pride in our uniform 
and reputation. 
At this moment, on a rainy afternoon, I write 



FLANDERS 137 

to you at the side of glowing embers, wMcli con- 
tribute a little warmth, to my damp dwelling. You 
see I am not to be pitied; and indeed I continue to 
get on very well. I am often ashamed to think to 
what an extent the majority of my men, or even my 
comrades, may envy me, on seeing me always in such 
good health, and especially on seeing me receive so 
often — much more often than they do — long letters 
which I am ever reading and rereading. Sometimes 
there comes over me a great pity for those who tramp 
along in the ranks — the unknown, the modest, the 
humble, the disinherited of everything; and I find 
that these have really merit, unknown to any one — 
these men who have no friends, whom no affectionate 
thought accompanies along their barren way, and 
who never either receive or write letters. Therefore 
I blame myself for not knowing them better, for not 
doing, in as far as I am able, what no one does for 
them. How difficult it is to fill my part well and 
how far I am from it. 

Others have wives and children at home. What 
anxiety and anguish on account of those families' 
they have left without support! Yes, I am indeed 
in every way a privileged person. It would be 
horrible cowardice on my part — I whose task is 
so facilitated — to give way to discouragement. 
But what a debt of inexhaustible gratitude that 
represents towards those who make my path so 
easy! You to whom, after God, I owe everything — 
my brothers, those especially who no longer see 
through the deformation of the flesh, — and then 
all those (parents, friends, known or unknown 
masters) who have cast a little of the manna of 



138 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

charity on my way, what innumerable creditors of time 
you and they are! Alas! it is with merit that all 
that can be paid. 

Basseye, 
November 30. 

I write to you from a tiny little abandoned house 
where we have fixed up our cooking arrangements. 
The company is installed as well as can be all 
around, in scattered houses belonging to this little 
ill-defined hamlet of Basseye. This Belgium is 
populated in an extraordinary manner, or rather it 
was before the present occupation. In each of these 
abandoned houses — ^narrow, without storeys and with 
low ceilings — ^you obtain a strange impression: 
that of a well-to-do population, but one without taste. 
You have only to see the quantity of cattle and 
poultry which wander about the fields at the mercy 
of grape-shot, to realize the real wealth of the country, 
the friable soil of which must give a good return. 
But wealth here seems to be obscure and sad; these 
easy circumstances are more painful to behold than 
certain straitened ones. To what is that due? To 
the wretched appearance of these thatched or brick 
hovels with thin walls, which tremble or crack at 
every bursting shell? Or else to the disorder of 
these blackened and ill-kept interiors, where every 
object seems dirty, from the little bowls, or the long 
drinking glasses hung up obliquely on the folding- 
doors of the chimney-pieces, to the religious objects, 
rude crucifixes or naive statuettes, which you inva- 
riably find on every piece of furniture, cheek by jowl 



FLANDERS 139 

with, the most common household articles. At all 
events, a musty smell and as it were an impression 
of corruption comes from these little Flemish 
dwellings. 

The Germans systematically aim at the villages and 
big agglomerations indicated on the map. They wish 
to destroy and ruin everything, and it is pitiful to 
behold the state of the villages they have chosen as 
objectives. Everything is in ruins. Many of the 
houses are burnt, others have their roofs shattered, or 
walls broken down; there are fragments of tiles, 
broken timber, heaps of bricks over which one 
stumbles at night time ; and against the sky, illumined 
by the moon despite the clouds, lamentable silhouettes 
stand out: the mutilated sails of windmills, pierced 
roofs, and jagged walls with unexpected outlines, or 
miraculous equipoise. "What lamentable visions of 
ruin and devastation! 

This evening, at dark, we return to the trenches. 
We shall spend two days there, then go to La Clytte 
for two days' rest, after which we come back here 
to the second line for a couple of days, and 
so on. 

At the present time, on this front, the Germans 
are very quiet, after having been very active, but 
without success. Our artillery is much more 
active than theirs, our rifles are heard much oftener 
than theirs; and you would even imagine at certain 
times that they do not wish to fire. Evidently they 
are tired. Their commanders lead them under the 
menace of their revolvers and the men do not advance 
willingly. 



140 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

December 1. 

It is therefore four months to-day since I sat for 
the last time in your midst, assembled around that 
family table which has so often brought us together, 
joyous and heedless, on the evenings of cloudless 
days. . . . We did not then know how to enjoy the 
happiness of being- together. It is indeed true that we 
are fashioned to desire something beyond what we 
possess. 

This day in the trenches, begun in almost complete 
silence, ends amidst the thunder of a violent bombard- 
ment. For the past two hours there has been a per- 
petual concert, in which the ear, accustomed to this 
music, can distinguish the harsh barking of the 75 's, 
the clear, ringing salvos of the British guns, and the 
deep rumbling of* the heavies, which play, further 
away, the part of the double basses in this formidable 
orchestra. . . . 

December 2. 

This morning the sun rose level with the earth in an 
almost cloudless sky. The low hills of Wytschaete, 
showing their bluish outlines against the luminous 
east, was an exquisite spectacle. 

Face to face with the indestructible beauties of 
Nature, at those hours when, in spite of everything, 
they impose themselves on the admiration, you feel a 
certain uneasiness at the contrast, so striking, between 
the peaceful sweetness of this scenery and the horror 
of the great drama of which it is the impassable 
stage. 

I recollect having many times felt this feeling 



FLANDERS 141 

in the Vosges, when the twilight cast its oblique rays 
on the desolated valleys where wounded men were 
moaning in the agonies of death. What anguish of 
heart I experience when evoking those landscapes of 
the Vosges, which were the witnesses of the obscure 
death of our poor Jean. When the remembrance of 
those terrible days obsesses me, I should like to be 
able to drive away such painful images. Nevermore 
shall I be able to find charm in that district. What 
a nightmare again to think of all those hastily dug 
graves, marked only by rude crosses surmounted by 
little red caps! . . . 

One must not pay attention to these material signs. 
His soul is now in peace — the only peace that nothing 
will disturb any more; and we ought only to rejoice 
at it since he is happy in heaven — happier than he 
could ever have been alive. What does our suffering 
matter ? 

For the two months we have been waging this 
trench warfare, we have never lacked what is neces- 
sary, or at least indispensable; but have we not 
insensibly lost in warlike value and in disinterested- 
ness? For there is no doubt about it, sacrifice and 
suffering are the true school of character. Comfort, 
when one accepts it, is a danger — a redoubtable 
enemy against which one must be on one's guard. 
And I am sure that in these times I have still far 
too much leisure and comfort. Beware of the ter- 
rible danger of egoism and effeminacy. Consequently 
I count at all times on your prayers; there is no 
other source from which to draw the grace to do 
one's duty. 



142 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

Haringhe (Belgium), 
JDecemher 8. 

To-day is an ancient fete-day of Lyons, and I am 
thinking, not without emotion, of the traditional 
demonstration which will take place this evening on 
the quays of the Rhone and the Saone, swarming 
with promenaders. I can see again the fagades 
constellated with flickering little candles, from the 
entresols to the attics; as well as the blaze on the 
Fourvieres hill, with its luminous slopes, its gigantic 
inscriptions in letters of gold on black, its stars, 
its thousands of living flames. "We could hardly 
have the least idea of all that in our remoteness if 
we did not possess the power of recollection, the im- 
pression of which no present time can efface. This 
evening, when night descends on these immense damp 
plains, I shall think of all that, and shall, without 
difficulty, behold again that unique spectacle of the 
illuminations of Lyons. "Who knows whether I shall 
see them again next year? But who would have 
thought, a year ago, that we should be in this posi- 
tion to-day? 

We left La Clytte yesterday at noon. The rain, 
which had fallen since the day before, had not stopped 
and it continued incessantly the whole of the after- 
noon. Consequently the march along roads deep 
in liquid mud and obstructed by vehicles and con- 
voys was painful. Moreover, the knapsacks are 
heavy with the winter baggage, and you get out of 
the habit of these route marches through living a 
stationary life. Finally, we landed last night, in 
pitch darkness, in our sector, in the open country, 
where, in the rain, we had to find quarters in the 



FLANDERS 143 

farms scattered about the country. "We are in the 
farmhouses of Haringhe, quite near the spot where 
the Yser crosses the frontier. Are we therefore going 
to return to France? 

The Alpine battalions sent to the Belgian front at 
the same time as ourselves have all been mustered in 
these parts since yesterday and are bound for an 
unknown destination. I shall never have travelled so 
much as this year. But we see so much that is fresh 
that we end by being no longer much astonished. 
At the present time (and it will be thus until the 
end of the war) we live from day to day. "We follow 
the path along which Providence leads us and no one 
dreams of making a thoughtful examination of it. 
We have enough to do in endeavouring to carry out 
our daily duty. 

But later, when we are able to return at leisure 
to these epic months, what reflections, considera- 
tions and also instruction will issue from the stormy 
epoch we are traversing, and which will certainly 
be one of the greatest in the history of France. It 
will resemble an agitated and often dolorous pilgrim- 
age — a spiritual pilgrimage along that Calvary 
which the entire country ascends, and which every 
one ascends on his or her part. May God have pity 
upon us! May He accept all the sacrifices for the 
redemption of the faults committed by our poor 
France! Let us hope that in this hard school she 
will have learnt the lesson; But perhaps the trial 
is not sufficient; and the longer and more courage- 
ously we have supported our suffering the better we 
shall be. 



144 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 



Haringhe, 
December 10. 

The days are long, somewhat sad in this country 
without relief, shrouded in mists which saturate it 
with constant moisture. "We are still awaiting the 
departure announced yesterday, but now postponed 
until later. We have mustered ten Alpine battalions 
in this region of the Franco-Belgian frontier, and 
certainly not for nothing. 

The 14th Battalion is one of the ten ; and I shoald 
much like to meet Henri Gonnet, of whom I have had 
no news for a long time. 

This obligatory solitude and deprivation of those 
we love the most is one of the cruellest trials of our 
life. I should regret my friends less if I were less 
attached to them. From time to time I see Major 
Foret, who is always very kind to me, and take great 
pleasure in conversing with him, in exchanging im- 
pressions, especially when they relate to the war. He 
also, I imagine, experiences some rather painful 
moments. But he is most energetic, most active, and 
appears to have a dread of the depressing effect of 
idleness. 

At the present time we have entirely incorporated 
the recruits of the 1914 class, and our companies are 
of about 260 to 270 men. That is a great many — 
almost too many from certain points of view. 

. . . The spirit displayed is now very good and 
there is much willingness. . . . 

"Whilst it grows darker outside, we remain seated 
in the room of the farm-house which shelters us, 
around a broken table, awaiting the order for de- 



FLANDERS 145 

parture that cannot be long in coming. Thus we 
wait without doing anything, without thinking of 
any great matter. My drowsy-headed neighbours 
slumber at the edge of the table, or else are seated 
at a corner of the stove. Another smokes his pipe 
in silence, his thoughts far off, or wandering in space. 
Every one is under the influence of this dark and joy- 
less day. If we remain here for long we shall end 
by becoming like these Flemish peasants : strange and 
taciturn. We have more and more the impres- 
sion that we are gaining the upper hand, and by 
the force of circumstances the situation of the Ger- 
mans can only get worse. It is merely a question 
of time. Only, one must have patience — much pa- 
tience. Better not think of the future, which belongs 
to God alone. 

After all, we shall always meet again : if not in this 
world, then in the next. Wherever it may be, it will 
be a happy moment. 

HoNDEGHEM (2 kUometres from Hazebrouch), 
December 11. 

Here we are, again in France. Last night, by 
moon-light, we passed the many-coloured frontier 
post. Strictly speaking, nothing in the outward 
aspect of things marks a change of territory: it is 
the same flat country, with the same straight lines 
of giant elms, the same paved roads, the same damp 
fields intersected by canals filled to overflowing. 
Windmills spring up here and there, raising their 
living silhouettes in the midst of this dead country- 
side. 



146 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

We are two kilometres north of Hazebrouek, in this 
village of Hondeghem, which possesses nothing either 
particularly beautiful or ugly. We leave to-morrow 
morning at two. 

December 13. 

Only a few words to-day. We made a long march 
last night and I am rather tired. This makes three 
nights we have been on the road, and we need rest 
and sleep. It does you good to get into training 
again in this way. One is not a chasseur for 
nothing. 

MiNGOVAL (18 kilometres north-west of Arras), 
December 14. 

What ground we have covered the last few days! 
We have resumed for a time a roving life in billets, 
with daily marches. The men covered these stages 
fairly well. 

The battalions of chasseurs are grouped in the 
district in two large groups of four and a small group 
of two. The 11th forms part of one of these groups 
of four battalions placed under the command of 
Colonel Bordeaux. All this — these changes and 
the transport of troops from one front to another — 
doubtless corresponds to a fresh distribution of troops 
on the front. Is it in preparation for the general 
offensive ? 

Come ! courage and patience ! Our God, who 
is the good God, will not demand anything without 
granting us the strength to do it, without giving 
way. 



FLANDERS 147 



December 17. 



"We are still in quarters, in the same little village 
of Mingoval. But it is not for long, since we are to 
leave this evening. Afterwards, we shall see. We 
are going to have some work these coming days, and 
must live as best we can. Pray for me, so that I may 
do my duty. 

Mingoval, 
December 20. 

At eleven o'clock we had a military mass organized 
for the battalion by a chaplain of a divisionary 
ambulance of the 20th corps, installed here. The 
band of the 11th lent its assistance and the buglers 
sounded the general during the elevation. The 
church of Mingoval was too small to hold all the 
numerous chasseurs who came. At the conclusion 
the band played the Marseillaise and the Sidi- 
Brahim. 

On such occasions as this one could imagine one- 
self almost in peace time, at the manoeuvres in some 
quiet — if not Alpine — quarters; but all the same 
there is something more serious in the air. Merely 
by looking at the faces, merely by hearing all these 
voices in unison, you feel that everybody is domi- 
nated by the gravity of the hour and the anxiety 
of the still arduous future. But it is a conso- 
lation to all to meet together, in passing, around an 
altar, and once more to find there, with recollec- 
tions of childhood, an atmosphere of charity and 
confidence. 

And so my brother Joseph, in his turn, is leaving.^ 



148 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

You will find the house very empty after his de- 
parture. "When God wills it we shall all meet again, 
and that day will be blessed, notwithstanding Jean's 
absence, which will then be so painful. Only on 
the other side of the grave will the meeting be per- 
fectly happy, and without apprehension, or regret. 
But do not let us speak of what does not depend 
on us. 

Our group is now commanded by Lieutenant- 
Colonel Bordeaux, the brother of the writer. We 
made his acquaintance recently and he appears very 
sympathetic. He is very fond of the chasseurs, 
among whom he has passed almost the whole of his 
career. 



December 24. 

To-night is Christmas eve. What dear recol- 
lections centre around this festival, which since 
childhood we have learnt to love as the feast of 
families ! 

To-day, in the pale blue sky, in the awakening 
country, everything is preparing as for a joyouss 
Christmas, similar to all those we have known. Mean- 
while, since morning, the air vibrates with the rum- 
bling of the guns, which thunder over there near 
Arras, and notwithstanding the weather, which has 
become fine as though by a miracle, the burden of 
realities weighs on every soul. Many — almost all — • 
will suffer to-night and to-morrow under the yoke 
which they must bear as on other days, and which 
everything will contribute to make harder. . . . 

It is thu^ because God has willed it. We must 



FLANDERS 149 

neither moan nor complain. And since this festival 
tells us that God is nearer to us, we must pray to 
Him more fervently, put our trust still more in His 
infinite goodness. 

I know that to-night, at the midnight mass, you 
will think of me as much, if not more, than if I 
were kneeling in your midst. And I also shall think 
of you as if I were over there; and our prayers will 
find a means of meeting. Preparations are being 
made, in the too small church at Mingoval, for a fine 
midnight mass with music, and I am sure that all 
will want to be present, even if we are to leave at 
dawn. 

To-day we have received from Annecy a generous 
consignment of Christmas presents: dainties, choco- 
late, sweets, cigars, cakes of soap, writing-paper, 
pipes, liqueurs — everything (above all the proof of 
great devotion and kindness, which gives the most 
pleasure), and for everybody. 

Mingoval, 
December 26, 

So this Christmas, which we certainly did not 
think we should spend so far from each other when 
we parted in the early days of August, is over. What 
illusions we possessed at that time ! We thought that 
a few weeks of warfare would suffice to give us a 
victory of which nobody at that time would have 
permitted himself to doubt. Certainly, in the admir- 
ble thrust made at the beginning, we promised our- 
selves in advance a triumphal march, across the Rhine, 
to the very heart of Prussia. 



150 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

To-daj\ minds are very different. Everywhere, not 
only with those who are fighting, but in the interior 
of the country, the exuberant and somewhat puerile 
enthusiasm of the early days of the war has gradually 
calmed down. But, in the stead of this artificial 
ardour, there has slowly come an intense determina- 
tion, a silent and tenacious will to conquer, and con- 
fidence in a success which will justify all sacrifices. 
Is it not better so? 

Some very fine things were said at the reopening 
of the Chamber on December 22 — a witness to the 
fact that there are still vitality and energy in our poor 
country. It is a long time since the French Parlia- 
ment translated with such unanimous elevation of 
ideas the feelings of the whole of France. This after- 
noon the major ordered us to read to the chasseurs 
of each company the splendid speech containing the 
declaration of the Government. 

By a favour which we much appreciated, we spent 
the Christmas festival in quarters, in this hospitable 
village of Mingoval. 

I shall not attempt to tell you all the emotions 
experienced on that night of meditation and all day 
yesterday, which I spent entirely with the recollection 
of what is most dear to me. 

They did us a real favour in allowing us to be 
present at the midnight mass; to hear again, but a 
few kilometres from the German lines, the touching 
melodies of the Christmas carols of yore. The 
church is not large, and many chasseurs had to re- 
main at the door. A. soldier, whose red trousers ap- 
peared under his cassock, said mass. A sub-lieutenant, 
the officer of the machine-gun section, sang Minuit 



FLANDERS 151 

Chretiens: All of us together sang those na'ive airs 
which everybody knows: Dans cette etable. . . . 
Les anges dans nos campagnes. . . . II est ne, le 
Divin Enfant, etc. 

After the mass, we even had, in the small room 
where we do our cooking, a little Christmas-eve sup- 
per. The commissariat of the battalion did wonders 
to bring us some extras on that occasion ; and the only 
thing lacking was that careless gaiety which we shall 
not recover until we return. 

Eeally, we were lucky in being able in this way 
to spend Christmas in quarters. Meanwhile, others 
were in the trenches, in the cold and isolation; and 
I thought all night and during the day of those 
whose Christmas must have been most miserable. 
Especially did I think of it when going to church, 
in the darkness, and on hearing distinctly, in the 
silence of that cold, clear night, the intermittent 
rattle of rifle fire and, at intervals, the booming of the 
big guns. 

How wretched to hear the music of war on Christ- 
mas night ! Certainly on that night many prayers, 
much suffering, lives perhaps were offered for the re- 
demption, and salvation of the country. All that 
cannot be in vain. 

Whilst we were spending that Christmas night 
here, I pictured without difficulty what yours, over 
there, must have been: a fervent and pious Christ- 
mas, occupied especially in prayer, which is your 
weapon in this war. And I am sure that we were, 
despite everything, very near to each other at that 
time, closely united by thought, by the heart, by recol- 
lections. I am also sure that from their state of happy 



152 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

peace those who have left us returned to remember 
and to pray with us. 

December 30. 

Still on my legs and in a good condition! After 
two hard days, I send you these hasty words and will 
write as soon as I can. 

December 31. 

Never have I appreciated this little village of 
Mingoval so much as since the night before last 
when we returned there after a two-days' engage- 
ment. 

On Sunday we ended by attacking the German 
trenches before Mont Saint-Eloi. Leaving here at 
8 a.m., we went straight to our first-line trenches, 
with the exception of two companies which remained 
a little in the rear in reserve. 

At 1 p.m. the artillery began to prepare for the 
attack. For half an hour it was an uninterrupted 
concert. All the batteries were in action at the same 
time — the 120 's and 155 's as well as the 75 's. From 
the trench where we awaited the hour for the assault, 
we watched the work of our shells peppering the 
German lines and sending huge showers of black earth 
heavenwards. The uproar — magnificent and tragic — 
lasted until 1.50, the precise hour at which the bat- 
talion was to debouch. 

At that moment there was a sudden cessation 
of the cannonade; then, with admirable unity, 
the two companies, which were holding themselves 



FLANDERS 153 

in readiness with, fixed bayonets, surged out of the 
trench and dashed aliead, in a long line of sharp- 
shooters, almost elbow to elbow, and with the bayo- 
nets of their weapons forward. Ah ! what an unfor- 
gettable sight! 

And to think that it was feared that our men, 
enervated by trench warfare, would no longer know 
how to act on the offensive. From the trench where 
I remained with my company I saw that departure, 
that "flight forward" of the two companies which 
went to the assault as calmly and in as good order 
as on the drill-ground of a barracks. It was necessary 
to cross a sort of broad depression in the ground, 
then slightly mount to reach the horizon line. The 
German trench was on this crest at 400 or 500 metres 
from the line of departure. 

Until the moment the first wounded fell, no one 
lagged behind; and the line advanced continuously 
in bounds of 50 or 60 metres, the men taking cover 
between each bound. In a very short time — a 
quarter of an hour or twenty minutes — the German 
trenches were occupied, and you could see floating 
there the little red and white flags intended to 
facilitate the range of our artillery. From his obser- 
vation post the major could see his two companies 
clinging to the German line. Two sections of the 
company on the right, led by their chief, Sub- 
lieutenant Maitre, of the reserve, even rushed into 
the more advanced works. 

The 11th behaved splendidly. Colonel Bordeaux 
had tears in his eyes. In the evening, passing on 
horseback, through Mingoval, where the sections 
of the depot remained, he said, as he rode past a 



154 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

sentry: "You may be proud of your battalion." 
Only, everything was not over. The battalions 
attacking on our right and left were not able to ad- 
vance like the 11th; so that at night-fall, the 
enemy having recovered a little, the two companies 
of the 11th found themselves in a very exposed 
position, without liaison on their wings, to such a 
degree that certain parts which they occupied were 
common to both chasseurs and Boches, who, doubt- 
less annoyed at having allowed themselves to be dis- 
lodged in this way, bombarded our men continuously. 
Under these conditions the situation became difficult. 
One of our companies had lost its four heads of sec- 
tions. In the other company, Maitre, the hero of the 
day, was wounded. The men were thus deprived 
of their leaders. The major had indeed sent me, at 
night-fall, a platoon of my company as a reinforce- 
ment, but in spite of everything, about 9 p.m., the 
first line, unable to occupy its isolated position with- 
out danger, fell back a little, not without losing a few 
men. 

My adjutant, an excellent chief of a section, dis- 
appeared at that time. A strange thing, — ^this most 
brave and energetic fellow expressed a wish a few 
days before to hand the paymaster of the battalion 
a letter addressed to his wife and in which he set 
down his last wishes. The very morning we left Min- 
goval, he, who rarely went to church, attended mass 
and received the Holy Sacrament. What a strange 
coincidence ! 

It was especially the following night, — that of the 
28th to the 29th — ^which was hard. A veritable tem- 
pest of wind, rain, snow and hail raged the whole 



FLANDERS 155 

night; and the trenches rapidly became ditches of 
sticky mud, in which we stood up to our knees and 
sometimes sunk as in quicksands. 

During this disagreeable night a platoon of my 
company again advanced under the command of one 
of my comrades, Sub-lieutenant de Landouzy. He 
went with his men to establish a trench under the 
very noses of the Germans, who fired continually with 
their rifles and machine-guns. 

On the morning of the 29th, somewhat tried by 
the cold, the want of rest, and the tension of these 
two days, we were relieved by the 24th Battalion. 
This was made difficult by the obstruction of the 
zigzags and the mud, in which the chasseurs some- 
times sank so deeply that they had to be pulled out 
by means of leather straps. Consequently the bat- 
talion was not reassembled until about noon, behind 
Mont Saint-Eloi, where we made a long halt. 

We got back to Mingoval about three o'clock. On 
returning, the major made us pile past, buglers ahead 
and with fixed bayonets, as when on parade. And I 
assure you that our mud-stained battalion (the men 
were literally covered from head to foot with the 
yellow clay of the trenches) had a fine bearing on the 
tired men, making an effort despite their fatigue and 
the pain in their wet feet, marched to the alert cadence 
of the bugles. Yes, the 11th had truly a proud bear- 
ing, that evening, under its glorious coating of mud; 
and you felt that the men, notwithstanding their 
physical fatigue, had grown morally by those two days 
of hard work, in the course of which a certain number 
of them had fallen. 

The battalion lost in those two days of offensive 



156 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

warfare two officers killed, three others wounded and 

about men disabled. Undoubtedly such days 

are sad; but one must admit that these trials 
make the men greater, that one feels they become 
truly better at the very time they see their comrades 
fall. 

At all events, these days remain to the honour of 
the 11th, which behaved itself admirably. The 
general made no secret of it. As to Colonel Bor- 
deaux, who commands our group, he was so affected 
that he was unable to speak. On the night of the 
28th, as the stretcher-bearers carried to the rear the 
dead body of one of our sub-lieutenants, he bent over 
the stretcher to kiss him. He himself handed a 
military medal to a sergeant who had been the 
first to enter the German trench, and told the 
commander to draw up a list of those to be men- 
tioned in army orders. I was able to see him near 
at hand on those days and I understood why papa 
spoke so well of him to me. He makes, indeed, an 
excellent impression and has won the esteem of 
every one in the battalion by the generosity of his 
manner and his heart, which one feels is brave and, 
under a modest exterior, free from all affectation, very 
sensitive. 

It was with great pleasure that we returned to our 
hospitable quarters at Mingoval, where we spent the 
day of the 30th resting and getting rid of the thick 
mud which encased us from head to foot. 

And now you see us awaiting the opportunity to 
perform fresh exploits. 

What reflections and sad meditations this year- 
end, which the war has sown with so much sorrow, 



FLANDERS 157 

inspires! Better turn with confidence and hope 
towards the coming year, which, we must trust, will 
bring us to the end of our trials. 

I received several letters from papa in the course 
of his journey to Saint-Die. So there is accom- 
plished that pious and touching pilgrimage towards 
those "stony places" where our Jean — ^humble yet 
glorious — entered by the door of unknown heroes 
into happiness incomparable to any the world could 
bring him. I can imagine without difficulty what 
appeasement, perhaps, and assuaging of his grief 
papa found, notwithstanding the sorrowful flow of 
recollections, in performing the last duties to those 
poor remains. With what emotion I, too, shall go — 
God willing — to pray on the spot where my brother 
fell! 

January 1, 1915. 

The 1st of January! "What a sad New Year's day 
for every one ! It rains and blows, the weather is 
cold and the shades of night fall early. Amidst this 
irresistible melancholy everybody is thinking of those 
far away. 

However, courage ! The new year which is opening 
so terribly will see the end of this strange war. It will 
be the year of our victory. And that glorious and 
liberating peace is, indeed, what we must wish every 
one on this 1st of January. 

Above all, I wish every one of you, whilst embrac- 
ing you with all my tenderness, the deep, unalterable 
peace of strong but humble souls. 



158 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

Caucourt, 
January 2, 1915. 

It was here, yesterday, we spent New Year's day, 
in the course of which our thoughts must have 
incessantly crossed each other. For not one of us, 
nor for anybody, will that New Year's day have been 
very cheerful. The burden of all this recent mourn- 
ing, the gravity of the days we are traversing, the 
uncertainty of the future — all this is not calculated 
to enliven a day already darkened by winter and a 
rainy sky. 

But in spite of everything, at the beginning of this 
year which opens in the midst of war, hope springs 
eternal amid our sadness — the hope of a liberating 
victory, less distant, perhaps, than some people 
think. 

It is indeed, I believe, every one's wish that this 
year will bring us not only an honourable but a 
glorious peace. The essential thing is to have con- 
fidence, not merely in oneself, for one now realizes 
one's weakness more than ever, but in Providence 
which directs our destinies towards and through the 
unknown. 

I cannot tell you to what a degree, since the 
opening of the war, I have had the feeling that I am 
nothing by myself. I can in no wise understand the 
part I play effectively in what I do. I am like a 
leaf swept along by a hurricane. Consequently, do 
not speak to me of courage and valour. I possess 
none. Carried away in this whirlwind, I shall re- 
main with it until it lays me down, dead or living, 
in some quiet spot. And as long as this dance lasts 



FLANDERS 159 

I shall abandon myself as best I can into the hands 
of God. 

Circumstances dictate the attitude or the action 
in accordance with which we are judged, as though 
we were the only masters. The only virtue, per- 
haps, is to know how to attach yourself to nothing 
and throw your life wholly into the vortex. Never 
during my life has my vision been so clear as now, 
for everything is simple for us; a single thing de- 
pends on us: the more or less disinterestedness we 
contribute to our task. But, sincerely, in the case 
of those who are not, materially, indispensable to 
anybody, is not the lot which is freest from doubts 
and scruples the most enviable one? It is the duty 
pure and simple, without ambages, and to know 
how to accept it as it presents itself is the whole of 
virtue. Do you not envy our poor Jean, who received 
it quite simply, generously, and who is now the hap- 
piest of us all? 

For yesterday morning, at ten o'clock, I had or- 
dered a muster of the company, to express to the 
chasseurs the major's good wishes and my own. On 
my walking into the middle of the square formed 
by the company, assembled in a meadow, the senior 
sub-lieutenant, an honest, hard-headed, stout- 
hearted Alsatian, addressed to me, on behalf of the 
company, and in a very pretty little speech, wishes 
for a happy New Year and success. I was quite 
unprepared for this surprise, which touched me 
deeply, and, to the best of my ability, I thanked 
them, saying how much I counted on the good will 
of all of them and how proud I should be to lead them 
to victory. 



160 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

The major had invited all the officers and medal- 
lists of the battalion to dine with him in the even- 
ing. At the house where he lives — a little old 
chateau, fairly picturesque — they had done miracles 
to set up a horse-shoe table, with table-cloths, if you 
please, and even garlands of verdure, branches of 
box running between the covers. On the walls were 
hung flags and a few of the trophies won on Decem- 
ber 27. The regimental flag decked the major's seat. 
A joyful fire shone in the fire-place. Really, in such 
times as these, you might have thought you were 
dreaming on crossing the threshold of that spacious 
room with its white carved panelling, its lighted 
candles in chandeliers, and its table laid as for a 
real dinner for quiet folk. Doubtless, the covers were 
not of silver; every one had to pull his knife from 
his pocket, and the plates were not changed. But 
all the same the result was marvellous and all the 
more enjoyable because we had all long since 
lost the habit of dining quietly and cheerfully from 
a clean table-cloth, ornamented with verdure. Need- 
less to say, the meal was one of the least melan- 
choly. You would never have imagined, to see us 
thus dining joyously and with a good appetite, that 
but a few days before we had done some hard fighting 
and were only a few kilometres from the German 
lines. 

The evening was spent in listening to songs and 
monologues of all sorts, in which the grave succeeded 
the gay, the merry the sentimental, the comic the 
solemn. All the artistes of the battalion contributed 
to the entertainment, which lasted until about mid- 
night. At the end, we all sang together the Sidi- 



FLANDERS 161 

Brahim, after which every one returned to his quar- 
ters, on one of those clear moonlit nights such as I 
have only seen in Belgium. 

That pleasant evening, which we owe to our 
major's affectionate amiability, will be one of our 
red-letter days of this war, in which impressions of 
that kind are so much the more striking as they are 
rare. 

Till we meet again, in this world or in the next! 
Pray for me as I do for you. There, again, we find 
an answer to all questions. 

Caucourt, 
January 9. 

Still in rest-billets, but with the prospect of leaving 
from day to day. We have never been so long at rest, 
for there is perfect quietness here. Drill in the morn- 
ing, cleaning up in the afternoon, and band in the 
centre of the village. 

January 11. 

We left Caucourt yesterday morning, unexpectedly, 
to take up quarters here, at Chelers, ten kilometres 
further south, in the direction of Saint-Pol, where we 
shall doubtless entrain immediately. 

This village resembles Caucourt, Mingoval, and 
all the others: low houses of stone, or brick, or 
even mud; roofs of thatch or tiles. In the interior 
of the courtyards, the inevitable dung-heap on which 
fowls and geese disport. Trees almost everywhere 
between the houses, which they easily hide, since 



162 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

the former are fairly large and the latter small. The 
villages are often in valleys, bottoms or hollows in the 
ground, so much so that you do not see them until 
you get quite close and the impression is left that you 
are walking in a sparsely inhabited country, whereas, 
on the contrary, it is thickly populated. 

Between the villages there are few or no houses 
and isolated farms; but above all tillage, huge fields 
of corn, beet, or red cabbages. All this being at 
present either harvested or under the ground, the 
whole of the earth has especially the ochre colour 
of the soil, with the exception of a few meadows of 
a yellowish green. Low hills block out the horizon 
on all sides. Gentle and ample sweeps of country 
form undulating lines and give a touch of relief in the 
extended prospects. On these broad and gracefully 
rounded brows, the only inequalities that meet the 
eye are, apart from scattered spinnies, the cone- 
shaped stacks of straw, which almost look as though 
they formed part of the ground, and the geometrical 
silos. 

In brief, apart from the engagement of December 
27-28, our sojourn in the Arras district will have 
been a very quiet period for us — a veritable rest, since 
we have not had to resume trench duty. But 
when you are accustomed to life in the first lines, 
somewhat long stays in the rear result in something 
else than advantages. I have come to the conclu- 
sion that action, even under the most arduous 
conditions, is still the best thing in life. Since we 
have been at rest we have heard the most paltry 
matters discussed, disputes have arisen, feelings 
have been hurt, and little jealousies have sprung 



FLANDERS 163 

up. All that, I know, does not reach the depths of 
the soul and will, which remain ready to show 
generosity and nobility; but it is painful to see 
any importance attached to matters about which 
we ought not even to think in the times in which we 
live. 



LEISURE HOUES 



Chapter V 

LEISURE HOURS 

Gerardmer, 
January 15. 

Once more we are transferred to a new scene ofi 
operations. We left Chelers on the morning of the 
12th for Saint-Pol, where we got into two trains, one 
of which left three hours before the other. We rolled 
on through the night, all next day and the following 
night as well, thus passing via Noisy-le-Sec, the 
Grande Ceinture, Nogent-sur-Seine, Provins, Troyes, 
Chaumont, fipinal, Bruyeres and Laveline, to arrive 
here, at last, yesterday morning about ten o'clock. 
And since yesterday we have been living barrack-life, 
almost identical to that we have all known at Grenoble, 
Annecy, or elsewhere. 

The officers live in the town. I have a room in one 
of the hotels of the place. 

Gerardmer does not seem to have suffered through 
the war. You would think you were in an entirely 
different place if it were not for the continual com- 
ing and going of soldiers of all arms, convoys, motor- 
cars, and ammunition wagons. The shops are open 

167 



168 A CEUSADER OF FRANCE 

and the streets lit. At this moment I write to you 
under the light of an electric lamp. 

Women are to be seen in the streets dressed other- 
wise than as fugitives or as refugees. Children in 
wooden-soled boots pass, returning from school with 
their portfolios under their arms, or satchels on their 
backs. Bells ring in the bell-towers. Clocks are 
going. . . . 

All this is so novel to us that we have a difficulty 
in believing that it is not a dream. So there are 
other things than muddy high roads, — other things 
than trenches facing the Boches, than devastated fields 
and shattered houses. There still exist in the world 
veritable houses, intact, where you live without 
anxiety, where it is warm, where you sleep in beds 
with sheets, where you hear people talking and laugh- 
ing, and even playing the piano and singing. Really, 
it is a pleasant surprise to meet such a sojourning- 
place as this on one's path. Since the beginning 
of the war we have never had a similar impression — 
at any rate those who, like us, have never returned 
towards the rear. 

We have indeed sometimes passed through villages 
or small towns where life was not completely at a 
standstill; but everywhere, in every case, war was 
visible in the closed or provisionless shops, in the sad 
and little frequented streets, in the many abandoned 
houses. 

Here, on the contrary, every one is at home. 
Life follows its normal course. You go to the hair- 
dresser's to have a shave and to the shoemaker to 
get a new pair of shoes. There are shops for almost 
everything and almost everything in the shops. 



LEISURE HOURS 169 

"What a strange thing ! What a pleasure also to feel 
for a moment in a civilized country, in an atmosphere 
which, at present, speaks to us of welfare, comfort, 
luxury ! 

Last night I slept in a good bed, in a room all to 
myself; I slept without anxiety and through the best 
part of the morning. We indulge in varied meals 
with unheard-of luxuries: a table-clotli, covers, salt- 
cellars, different plates for the soup, the roast and 
dessert. I have had myself shaved, cropped, 
washed, etc. . . . This is a great luxury, life in 
dashing style. 

G]ERARDMER, 

January 17. 

Since yesterday, snow has fallen incessantly. Win- 
ter is here at last, — ^the white immaculate winter we 
all know so well. Snow-ploughs pass along the streets, 
driving the snow to the sides. A number of boys go 
by, with heads bent against the blinding snowflakes, 
dragging a toboggan at the end of a cord. Others are 
off ski-ing. 

Meanwhile, we are under shelter, in the warm hotel 
room, watching through the windows the falling of 
the snow and the passing to and fro of those 
who walk along the white pavements with muffled 
footsteps. 

There is being formed here a division of chasseurs 
under the command of General Blazer. An indepen- 
dent division from the point of view of operations and 
attached to the Army of the Vosges. That is our 
reason for being here. 



170 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

Gerardmer, 
January 19. 

I still write to you from this little paradise, where 
I continue to find existence more than agreeable. 
Beautiful winter, with an abundance of pure white 
snow, has succeeded the rain and the wind of our 
arrival. In the town, sledges glide, to the mufQed 
trot of horses, over the hardened roads. The pines, 
which cover all the slopes, stand up like white wax 
candles. Beautiful winter I What joyful recol- 
lections it evokes, this winter similar to those of our 
Alps, with their snow-fields, which seem to call to the 
skiers. 

In the evening of the day before yesterday we 
had a surprise. About eight o'clock I received orders 
to set out with my company and half of another, 
armed with navvies' tools, to clear the line of the 
little Schlucht tramway. The revictualling of the 
troops operating in the Munster-Colmar valley is 
carried out by way of this pass. We left by tram 
at ten o'clock. On reaching Retournemer, we began 
by spreading ourselves out along the slope, and 
from midnight until 4 a.m. the men were busy 
with spades and pickaxes. At dawn I assembled 
them in the Retournemer chalet, where coffee had 
been prepared. At six o'clock they set to work 
again — a somewhat thankless job, because the snow, 
falling heavily, covered up the line again as fast 
as it was cleared. At nine o'clock a car ascended, 
bringing the Minister Millerand, Generals Patz and 
Blazer, and a whole company of staff-officers and 
press-men. It was not until after their return, at 



LEISURE HOURS 171 

eleven o'clock, that we were able to re-descend and 
return to Gerardmer on foot, rather tired by this work, 
lasting a night and half a day. 



GERARDMER, 

January 21. 

It is just a week to-day since we arrived here. Cer- 
tainly it is the quietest and most comfortable week 
we have spent since the beginning of the war. The 
51st, which arrived at the same time as we did, left 
Gerardmer yesterday to relieve an infantry regiment 
in Alsace. There is talk of forming out of the 
11th a detachment of skiers, as already exists in the 
battalion which have never left the Vosges. Yes- 
terday I was able to borrow a pair of skis and ac- 
company my company on a march through the forest, 
magnificent in its whiteness. That recalled many 
pleasant but melancholy recollections. The country 
is splendid. The sunset yesterday evening, in a clear 
and roseate sky, was fairy-like. But I never behold 
a landscape, however beautiful it may be, without re- 
gretting the beauties of our Dauphiny Alps, and with- 
out thinking with emotion of the day we shall see 
them again together. 

GiSrardmer, 
January 24. 

One more Sunday are we spending most quietly 
in this peaceful little town, where you would not 
suspect we are in war time if it were not for the 
importance of the military element in the popula- 



172 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

tion and in everything you encounter. Almost all the 
large hotels are transformed into ambulances, where 
officers' wives and all those who offered their kind 
assistance are enrolled as nurses, or as ladies of the 
Red Cross. At the present time there are few 
wounded ; they keep here only those who have wounds 
which will not permit of further travelling ; or those, 
on the other hand, who, not being very ill, are to 
rejoin their corps at an early date. 

"Whilst we are enjoying these quiet days, many of 
our comrades are fighting in Alsace. There have been 
some rather violent engagements over there and cer- 
tain battalions have been hard hit. The Alpine bat- 
talions — especially certain ones — will have paid a 
heavy tribute to the war and shed no little blood for 
the honour and glory of being often in the first rank. 
The 11th has been one of those which has suffered 
the most, for we must have had, since the beginning, 

men disabled. That is a rather big figure for 

a corps the effective force of which does not exceed 
1,800 men. That is to say, there is now very little left 
of the original battalion, although many wounded have 
returned to the front. 

After this rest, we shall almost certainly be sent to 
Alsace. It is of little consequence. — ^We must reach 
the stage of taking no heed of the morrow, in giving in 
the present, and in trusting entirely in God. "Suf- 
ficient unto the day is the evil thereof." For the 
moment the evil is very slight. 

January 26. 

I am still writing to you from the warm room of 



LEISURE HOURS 173 

this hospitable hotel, whilst it snows and freezes 
outside. 

What a change has come over things since our 
diversified comings and goings among these same 
mountains of the Vosges at the end of August! At 
that time, we were still under the influence of agita- 
tion at the first shock, — we were in the period of un- 
certainties and surprises in this war, of cruel days 
when ground — and men — were lost, of unbearable 
nights when, despite fatigue, sleep was difficult. What 
painful recollections ! Looking backwards, those early 
days of fighting seem to me still more terrible than 
they were, for the moral of our men, despite events, 
was unaffected. 

The reason is that we have since become acquainted 
with a very different state of things, and this causes 
us to exaggerate, by comparison, the trials of the 
past. And then the thought of Jean, the vision of 
his last moments, of his heroic and unknown death, 
lost in the great whirlwind which carried so many 
away, the image of those slopes of the Kemberg 
where I myself have been and where he met his 
end — all this is a burden, as of unconquerable 
melancholy, on all the recollections connected with 
that brief period of the war. It could not be pro- 
longed in the way it was then being waged; it 
had to change its manner, or cease, for want of 
combatants. 

Now, it is entirely the opposite: temporization, 
economy, patience, prudence. 



174 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

January 28. 

Time passes, days follow one another, and we are 
still here. What a contrast between this sojourn in 
the Vosges and the first we made here at the end 
of August. Never again, I hope, shall we see anything 
similar to what we then experienced. Those attacks, 
those alarms, that life of surprises, those assaults in 
which so much heroism was so vainly wasted that it 
was not even noticed — all these will not be met with 
again. 

Those who did not experience the first events of 
the war — ^the desperate bayonet charges, and the 
courageous but inexperienced struggles in the woods 
— ^will have seen only the semi-martial side of the 
campaign. It is sometimes distressing to think of 
all the bravery and ardour that was absolutely 
thrown away at that time. "When, in thought, I 
live over again that tragic 27th of August, which 
will doubtless remain for me the cruellest day of 
the war, I see once more the figure of Cap- 
tain Rousse, standing at his full height in the wood, 
and, with raised arms, uttering amidst the shouts 
and rifle-shots the last call, which he was unable 
even to complete: "Help! Rally! With fixed bayo- 
nets!" And again I see him, a second after- 
wards, falling to the ground, with bent knees and 
white face, as he stammered to the two men, sup- 
porting him, these words: ''Thank my company 
for me ... go and take orders from Captain 
Deschamps. ' ' 

Is it not incomprehensible and heart-rending to 
isee an officer, who had given unstintingly the whole 



LEISURE HOURS 175 

of his intelligence and time for fifteen or twenty 
years, who had put all his heart into learning how 
to fight, fall in that way in a small engagement, 
in his first fight? But one must look beyond one's 
profession. . , , 

No, it was not for the purpose of falling in an 
ambuscade in that profitless way, that a man of that 
stamp worked incessantly the whole of his life; and 
all that devotion, all those sustained efforts did not 
vanish into nothingness at the moment of his death. 
Of all that God keeps an account that we ourselves 
cannot estimate. 

Deadly struggles are taking place just now in 
Alsace. At Hartmannsweilerkopf, a company of the 
28th was surrounded on a spur of the mountain, 
whereupon the 13th made an attack in order to deliver 
it. The latter battalion suffered serious losses, includ- 
ing its commander. I cannot help feeling a certain 
shame at being here, protected from the cold and the 
bullets, when my comrades over there fight a hard win- 
ter campaign. Really, there is something captivating 
about life in the firing-line; and when you have left 
it for some time you realize better how interesting it 
is, as well as salutary, in consequence of its very 
dangers. 

I have recently received several admirable letters, 
apart from your own. Each writer reacts against the 
shock of realities according to his capacity and turn 
of mind, and it is very curious to observe how the same 
events bring out a very different sound, of a special 
tone, in each personality. 

As if all those who are so kind as to interest them- 
selves in me knew the pleasure that letters to 



176 A CRUSADER IN FRANCE 

"those at the front" give, I am written to a good deal 
deal and from all parts — ^Lyons, Grenoble, Annecy 
and even Cappy. These letters — and yours more 
than all the others — play a very big part in my life. 
Do you know that anything you say to me is insig- 
nificant: the importance of details does not arise 
from the nature of the objects or facts, but from the 
value given them by the affections to which they 
are attached and of which they form, so to speak, 
part. 

At this time your letters are more than ever the 
joy of my life. The moral atmosphere in which we 
live here is, owing to circumstances, inferior in 
quality to that of the days which we wrongly call 
"bad days." Here we already feel the need of 
becoming disciplined; we have not the feeling of 
such a necessity when duties of the moment them- 
selves impose discipline. Here we have leisure, 
conveniences, a comfortable existence, and we 
realize quite well that in this school we do not gain 
much. It is now, by comparison, that we estimate 
the price of sterner days of which every minute is like 
a prayer. In thinking of all this, a phrase of the 
Imitation comes back to me: "He that escheweth 
not small faults little by little shall slide into 
greater. ' ' 

We must not delude ourselves: all great qualities 
are acquired through ordinary life; only, they have 
no opportunity of coming out strikingly in the uni- 
formity of little duties. They are revealed only on 
extraordinary occasions, because circumstances then 
form a frame for them which attracts attention. But 
at those times you will do nothing very heroic, even 



LEISURE HOURS 177 

With all the desire and all the energy possible, if 
that improvement has not been prepared by a patient 
and persevering work of modelling. We are very 
wrong, when young and overcome by pride, to aim 
precisely at those great actions which are, and ought 
only to be exceptions, and to disdain familiar humble 
duties. Only the latter, however, form character and 
forge the will. 

Let that be applied to the domain of military prep- 
aration, and we see, on the one hand, Germany, patient 
and tenacious, succeeding by a sustained effort in 
acquiring the strength which still arrests us; on the 
other, France with her splendid ardour and gene- 
rosity, capable of the greatest heroism in a moment, 
but insufficient because unsupported by method and 
continuity. It is quite right to say that time has no 
respect for what is done without it. 

February 1. 

To-morrow evening the major receives all us officers 
for a Revue, prepared in great secret by two or three 
of us, and in which every one will have to swallow his 
pill. I play in it only the modest but necessary part 
of pianist. 

February 3. 

I am setting out to-morrow morning at the head of a 
detachment of N.C.O.'s of the battalion to reconnoitre 
and study the out-post sector, on the other side of 
the frontier, in the region of the Lac Blanc, where 
the 11th, about the middle of August, sustained one 



178 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

of the most bloody engagements. If possible, I shall 
carry my remembrance and prayers to the tomb of 
the brave men who fell there. 

There will be work to be done in Alsace, — perhaps 
soon, and the Chasseurs Alpins will have the honour 
of conquering, bit by bit, this precious country, which 
the Germans will make a point of honour of defending 
energetically. We must have confidence in the fu- 
ture, — confidence in God to whom victories do not cost 
dear and in whose hands war is a docile instrument. 
For those who survive to the end, there will still be 
most happy days. 

February 6. 

"We have returned from our expedition into Alsa- 
tian territory, a little tired but very satisfied. 

Setting out, on Thursday morning, to the number 
of ten, accompanied by three mules loaded with 
provisions, we mounted on foot along the road 
winding through the pines by the Col de Surceneux 
to the valley of Rudlin, at the foot of the last 
slopes before the frontier. After lunch at Rudlin, we 
crossed the Col de Louchpach to penetrate into 
Alsace and ascend to the Lac Blanc. At the cross- 
road, before leaving the forest, we paid a soul-stirring 
visit to the humble cemetery, half buried in snow, 
where rude wooden crosses, mostly without names, 
alone mark the spot where, side by side, unknown 
and pell-mell, lay the remains of our comrades-in- 
arms. 

Poor little cemetery hidden in this quiet corner 
of the forest! Whilst saluting, in passing, those 



LEISUEE HOURS 179 

modest anonymous crosses, crowned with spotless 
snow, one experienced, notwithstanding the sadness 
of that presence, a feeling of profound peace and 
great serenity. Without clearly expressing it, one 
felt almost a regret that one had not fallen like 
them, bravely, in the first glorious weeks of the 
war. By an instinctive comparison, my thoughts 
took wing at that moment towards the similar 
tomb where Jean also rests in that selfsame eternal 
tranquillity. 

Oh! no, we must not pity these comrades, these 
brothers who died before us. Noiselessly and in most 
cases without suffering, they departed from our poor 
world and now . . . it is for us to bear the burden 
of their death. 

At the culminating point dominating the Lac 
Blanc, and whilst awaiting a favourable moment to 
debouch from the forest on to the closely-observed 
road on to which the shells of the Boches were fall- 
ing brutally, we admired with wondering eyes the 
splendid panorama which, in that clear weather, 
stretched southwards, over the Jura, to the summits 
of the Bernese Alps. "What a secret joy to see once 
more, even from so far a distance, real mountains 
like ours! You felt almost near home when scru- 
tinizing, as you follow the fantastic line of the 
distant summits, the deep blue crevasses standing 
out on the delicate silhouette. Beyond the plain 
of Alsace, where a portion of the Ehine appears 
through an opening in a valley, the dark line of the 
Black Forest barred the horizon, as though to arrest 
our gaze, eager to explore German territory end- 
lessly. 



180 A CRUSADBE OF FRANCE 

At twilight, when the snowti of the Hautes- 
Chaumes begin to turn roseate, we took the path- 
way of the Lac Noir, spreading ourselves out in little 
groups so as not to tempt the Boche artillery-men, 
ever on the look-out for an objective. Not without 
being inconvenienced by a little shrapnel which 
came near to doing us damage, we reached the inn 
of the Lake, crouching under the protection of a 
wooded spur, and here some officers of the 52nd Bat- 
talion gave us a most friendly welcome. At night- 
fall they guided us, by a goat-path, to the tiny 
village of Pairis, the end of our march, where our 
surprise was great to find pretty houses intact and 
inhabited, comfortable quarters and a substantial din- 
ner at the house of the Cure. The immunity which 
this delightful spot enjoys is explained by a more 
or less tacit understanding in regard to the big 
village of Orbey, which the Bodies occupy at the 
bottom of the valley, and which we have never 
bombarded. 

At all events, Pairis appeared to us to be a very 
hospitable place, and to men who have been 
acquainted with the devastated plains of the North 
and the mutilated farms of Flanders, it was strangely 
savoury to dine tranquilly at the Cure's convivial 
table, but a few hundred yards from the enemy's 
lines. The next day, in the same sunny weather we 
had had the day before, we spent the morning study- 
ing the sector in detail, a task made possible by the 
pine-woods which enable you to walk about within 
range of the Boche rifles without running a great 
risk. After this reconnaissance of the ground, we 
returned to Pairis, where the afternoon was spent with 



LEISURE HOURS 181 

several officers of the 52nd, in their very comfortable 
quarters. But we carefully avoided showing ourselves 
outside, for up there orders are strict: "Nobody 
in open spaces during the day; lights out at 
night. ' ' 

This morning, at four, we set out again for the Lac 
Blanc and Gerardmer, where we arrived about noon, 
with legs thoroughly tired out and as hungry as 
hunters. 



Geraedmer, 
February 10. 

As announced to us yesterday, President Poincare 
came this morning to Gerardmer to review the 11th, 
his old battalion, in which he was an officer of the 
reserve. At nine o'clock we were assembled in heavy 
marching order when a procession of motor-cars made 
a sonorous entrance into the courtyard of the bar- 
racks. Immediately — a flourish of trumpets, bugles, 
bayonets, and the President passed in front of the 
companies standing in the cast-iron attitude of 
' ' Present arms ! ' ' He then distributed a few decora- 
tions and military medals. 

Afterwards we filed past him to the strains of the 
Sidi-Brahim. It was not the sad and glorious march- 
ing past as at Mingoval on December 29; but much 
more studied — and less impressive. Poincare declared 
that he was very satisfied and warmly congratulated 
Major Foret. 

He afterwards invited the commanders of com- 
panies and two lieutenants to a private luncheon. 
I was therefore present, with more curiosity than 



182 A CEUSADER OF FEANCE 

real pleasure. A cheerful, cordial luncheon, although 
the President and especially the satellites who ac- 
companied him (Millerand and several officers) are 
rather of the silent species, which one can easily 
understand. I was greatly honoured, since they placed 
me hy the side of General Blazer, who was next to 
Poincare, 

One can clearly perceive, notwithstanding his 
studied simplicity and the absence of all display, 
the man's importance and the value of his time. 
One has also the impression that he is — a some- 
body. He has above all a very expressive look, which 
does not particularly strike one on first meeting 
him, but which you remember in spite of yourself 
when you have passed him. Moreover, like all 
public men, he has a highly developed sense of the 
value of words and can express much in a few brief 
sentences. He made an excellent impression on all 
of us. 



February 13. 

The little fete which had several times been post- 
poned was held yesterday evening at the major's, at 
the Villa Sans-Souci, and ended by being more 
ceremonious than we expected. General Blazer, 
the officers of his staff, all the officers of the 11th, 
and even several ladies composed, in that luxurious 
and brilliantly illuminated drawing-room, almost a 
fashionable gathering, and you would have had a 
difficulty in believing that we were the same men 
who, a month ago, returned from the Carency 



LEISURE HOURS 183 

trenches with mud up to our very eyes. It is a funny 
war all the same. 

A very pleasant and animated evening. On the 
programme figured a few pieces of music, violon- 
cello, songs, monologues, fanfare and especially the 
little Revue I mentioned to you, and which appeared 
to amuse everybody greatly, including the general 
and the ladies — the latter perhaps a little startled 
by the rather free character of certain jokes. As 
things are, it takes a lot to startle one. We retired 
about midnight; and watching the general, who is 
a very gallant man, open the door of his car for the 
ladies in their light dresses, I thought that such a 
scene would have been less unexpected elsewhere than 
there. 

What a strange war ! You ask yourself really how 
it is going to end. But it is better to think only 
of one's present duty. For my part, I believe that 
all suppositions are vain; and since up to now every- 
thing has happened in an unexpected manner and 
against all anticipations, it seems to me logical to 
think that the solution will perhaps come from the 
direction in which we are not looking, and that the 
war will end in a way least foreseen. Is not the 
Marne affair a proof of this ? The Germans had then 
everything in their favour and would have entered 
Paris if they had insisted and if God had not pro- 
tected us. Is it not with regard to this that the words 
of I know not what soldier have been quoted : ' ' Cod- - 
quered is he who believes he is"? Conquered 
especially is he whom God has designated. 



184 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

February 15. 

I continue to lead here a life so ordinary and 
devoid of glory that I am sometimes rather ashamed 
of it. But my shame is so very slight that it does 
not prevent me from delighting in this quietness. 
One quickly gets accustomed to living comfortably, 
with everything that is necessary and much that is 
superfluous. Dreadful routine creeps in slyly, draws 
us gradually under its domination, and, notwith- 
standing the gravity of the times in which we are 
living, we end by living here, a few miles from the 
war zone, with the same unconcern as if we were in 
the midst of peace stagnating in a narrow provincial 
garrison. 

I am really beginning to fear that the delights of 
Gerardmer may be more harmful to us than profit- 
able. Doubtless this lokg rest was welcomed after 
our uninterrupted peregrinations; doubtless also, it 
was not a bad thing for any of us to be able once for 
all to clean and refresh ourselves, physically and 
morally. But you must be very attentive to your- 
self, very vigilant, in order not to give way to the 
attractions of this most easy life. You get a very 
clear idea now of the subjection in which we are 
with regard to the meanest circumstances. If you 
are not, a priori, on guard against your weakness, 
you quickly descend to mediocrity. It is the 
peculiar quality of great characters never to decline, 
but always to remain at their own level, whatever 
the society and atmosphere may be. Therefore, 
we must bless, as the grace and assistance of God, 
the circumstances which, of themselves, raise us 



LEISURE HOURS 185 

above banalities and trifles. So by war, and for that 
reason we must bless it. 

We experience almost daily how quickly men 
redescend the slope which leads to vulgarity. Dis- 
cipline, when not imposed by itself, seems to them an 
embarrassment, a detested torture. Poor fellows 
who often have never received the light, the g.ood 
seed of consciences in quest of the ideal ! How 
could they find in themselves the deep meaning of 
duty when their surroundings, their families, their 
whole life have restricted them to the narrow 
horizon of money cares and low-minded, ignoble 
covetousness ? 

Doubtless, when they are in the trenches, when 
death hovers over them for days and nights, or else 
when they dash forward, amidst the bullets, with 
fixed bayonets, their personality is forgotten, or 
rather grows broader, is purified and momentarily 
becomes simple and naked. The silent verities 
which slumber at the bottom of their poor souls 
awaken at the shock of superhuman realities and 
illuminate them. The souls which appear under 
this defaced exterior are almost new. And one of 
the finest emotions of war is to feel all that the 
nearness of the infinite has been able to do in a 
second. 

But old Adam is not dead. As soon as the charm 
is broken, he claims his place and would dominate 
again. . . . 

The remedy is easy and will be promptly effica- 
cious. Perhaps it will not be long in making its ap- 
pearance, although there is no talk yet of sending 
us elsewhere. It is certain that, if they intend us 



186 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

for any offensive mission, it will be necessary to wait 
until a more favourable season, for snow has again 
fallen heavily the last few days. The pine forests have 
put on again their marvellous dress and are every- 
where powdered. 

February 18. ' 

This time it is indeed my last letter to you from 
Gerardmer. We are on the point of departure, nay, 
we are even in the midst of it, since the major has 
already left with two companies. To-morrow I shall 
have said farewell to Gerardmer. 

The battalion is going to relieve the 12th in the 
sector before Sulzern, on the other side of the 
Schlucht; it is therefore on Alsatian soil that we are 
to take up our abode. 

To-day's grey and rainy weather reminds me of 
Lyons, to which my thoughts often turn. I never 
think of it without emotion and without feeling how 
much everything has gradually attached me to this 
city which I held so long in horror. 

Ah! the fine projects we made there for this win- 
ter, for this school year which I have not begun and 
that, almost certainly, I shall not finish there. I 
have often asked myself what impression we should 
have had if we had been told, on that harrowing even- 
ing of August 1, that the war was going to last so 
long? I did not think, on my precipitate departure 
from the great city, on that hot Saturday afternoon, 
that the farewell was so solemn and perhaps final. 
It is better, to a certainty, that we should not know 
the future. 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 



Chapter VI 
THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 

February 24. 

We have been in action since the 20th, and have 
had a few warm encounters; and that is the only 
warmth we have for the moment. 

"We are in the woods of Sattel, below Stosswihr in 
the district of Munster. The Boches have attacked 
vigorously in the whole of this region, where we came 
to relieve the 12th Battalion tranquilly. They have 
gained ground. "We have killed many of them ; but 
they have damaged us also. 

On Saturday I made — without great result — a 
counter-attack on the Reichakerkopf. I had an 
officer killed, three or four chasseurs killed and 
fifteen wounded. 

Since the evening of that day, we have been on 
the outskirts of the wood, entrenched, in order to 
prevent the Boches progressing further. They appear 
to have calmed down since yesterday, and a fresh 
attack on their part has failed. 

The poor 11th has suffered recently. Certain com- 
panies have been very hard hit. 

I write to you in a shelter made of the trunks of 
189 



190 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

pine-trees, and on Boche post-cards bought at Metze- 
ral by scouts of the 51st. 

It is snowing and cold, but our moral remains 
good. 

February 26. 

The situation is less strained — we are gradually- 
returning to quietness. The still bitter cold suffi- 
ciently puts us to the test. Not a few poor fellows 
have frozen feet. 

We have had some hard days. Likewise the 
Boches, with the result that they have not further 
insisted. 

We are all so dirty that we should be frightened 
if we were not all alike and without a means of 
comparison. 

March 1. 

Still on the look-out. The Boches are angry with 
us and have not yet calmed down. But last night 
they were very badly received and lost thereby 
many of their men. It will be a good lesson. 

The weather is rather distressing; it has snowed 
incessantly since yesterday. But courage, — every- 
thing comes to an end! We are advancing towards 
better days. 

And then ... by the grace of God! 

Col de Bischstein, 
March 4. 

A short respite, at last! We are beginning to see 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 191 

things clearly and can cast a glance at everything that 
has happened. 

For many things have happened since we left 
Gerardmer. 

It was a matter, not of a little isolated attack, 
but of a serious undertaking in which the Germans 
thought they would probably be able to drive us 
out of Alsace. They sent into action four or five 
regiments, fresh from the depots, and chiefly com- 
posed of very young men between seventeen and 
twenty-two years of age, all newly equipped and 
overflowing with inexperience. Fine game for our 
bullets ! 

On February 19, under the violent shock, we lost 
ground — and men. The same evening, on reaching 
Sulzern, where I preceded my company, I found my 
comrade Guerry lying in a house full of wounded, 
the majority of them by shell-splinters. My com- 
pany having rejoined me, we were sent at dawn to 
ascend the Sattel. 

There, order to attack the wooded peak of the 
Reichakerkopf, lost the day before. The men, 
regularly knocked up by the march, advanced after 
a fashion, and we gained a foothold on part of the 
peak. But there we were counter-attacked by the 
Boches, who killed one of my officers, three chasseurs 
and wounded several others. In order to avoid more 
serious and fruitless losses, I withdrew my company 
to the Sattel, where we remained until the 26th, 
organizing the outskirts, digging holes, killing a few 
Boches who were too audacious at the edge of the 
opposite wood, and suffering not a little from the 
rather intense cold, which made me lose a few men 



192 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

througli frost-bitten feet. On the evening of the 26th 
they sent us back to the battalion which, scattered 
and put to the test for six days past, is reforming as 
well as possible in the woods of Bischstein. I found 
the major there — fagged out, ill, distressed by the 
trials of the preceding day, but still steadfast and 
master of himself. 

Half-a-day's rest among the pines, and the same 
day, the 27th, we went and occupied a little ridge 
above Sulzern, where it was very cold and we remained 
shivering. 

On the 28th, at night, a company of the 12th came 
to relieve us, for we were to take part in an attack 
the next day. But the Boches forestalled us, and 
in the middle of the night made a violent attack on 
Sulzern. They were badly received and left not a 
few killed on the spot. We again went into action, 
according to the necessity of the moment. It was 
snowing — the weather abominable. Nevertheless, the 
men, though depressed, did not do badly. On that 
night a sergeant of my company, on patrol duty, 
captured, single-handed, a house occupied by the 
Boches, killing three of them, one after the other — 
two with the bayonet and one with a bullet, fired point- 
blank. 

On March 1 we were still in the field. The men 
took quite a lot of booty from the dead Boches, who 
lay almost everywhere. Finally, on the evening of 
the 2nd, we were relieved; and at dawn yesterday 
we came here to rest. This is the post of command 
and we are sheltered after a fashion in huts con- 
structed, in the midst of the wood, of tree trunks and 
earth. 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 193 

To-day our situation is better, and the weather 
also. Many of the men are rather unwell with colds, 
bronchitis, sore or frozen feet. But everything is 
beginning to go better. The Boches must have 
reflected after their last attack, which cost them 
dear. They are content to scatter their big shells 
almost everywhere towards the Schlucht. On our 
side we are entrenching hastily, hanging on, organ- 
izing, putting up barbed wire, erecting abatis, and 
applying our minds to the subject of second-line 
positions. 

The ground lost by us under the initial shock gives 
the Germans the advantage of being able to bombard 
at their leisure the whole of this valley and the road 
from the Schlucht to Sulzern. "Was that worth the 
sacrifice of so many men? Certainly, everything has 
not been bright for us, since we had men killed, 
wounded, and taken prisoners, alas ! But war cannot 
be waged without breakage. . . . 

To-*morrow evening I am going with my company 
to relieve another, somewhere, unless something fresh 
turns up in the meanwhile. 

Long live France ! 

March 6. 

"We are setting out on a little expedition which will 
perhaps last a few days. Do not be anxious if you 
remain without news during that time. 

Col db Bischstein, 
March 8. 

Ah! we have just spent a few more hard days. 
I have had two companies, and one of them my 



194 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

own, to send into action under difficult and painful 
conditions. The business is now over and I must thank 
God it did not end worse. 

It concerned an attack on the German lines of 
the outskirts of Stosswihr. "We were unable, how- 
ever, to reach the objective, and suffered pretty- 
badly through bullets and shells. This happened 
on the first day — that is to say, the 6th, in the 
day time. When night came we were sent on a 
fresh mission with a different objective. The night 
was barren; our movement formed part of a larger 
programme which could not be carried out. The 
following day was fairly hard. In the evening, we 
went to the outposts at Ampferbach and remained 
until 3 a.m. Relieved at that hour, we returned 
here, where, amidst the snow-covered fir-trees, we are 
building Robinson Crusoe shelters. It is over for the 
time being. 

I often think that this agitated life, full of emotions, 
is very enviable, and that it responds admirably to the 
proud ambitions of young men who would do and see 
everything — ^those who feverishly demand "to live 
their life," according to the common and fatal 
phrase. 

Yes, this life of action, always on the alert, indeed 
contains enough to satisfy a taste for adventure, a 
thirst for the unexpected, a dread of routine and 
ordinary existence — in brief, the whole baggage of 
youth overflowing with pride. Here are life and ad- 
venture for you. Here is something out of the or- 
dinary, and all your desires are realized. 

It is true: I believe that of all this, if we survive 
it, we shall retain an enchanted and almost volup- 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 195 

tuous recollection. I am sure that those who, evac- 
uated from the front, move towards the rear must 
quickly experience a feeling of dullness and medi- 
ocrity, and regret what they have left behind. 

For if here, as elsewhere, we set our hearts on some- 
thing we do not possess, we lead, to say the least, an 
intense, busy and earnest life. All things considered, 
a fine life, and doubtless we are not aware of how 
heartily we ought to congratulate ourselves on having 
to live it in this way. 

But this also may be an illusion; again an 
instance of pride and ''bounce." For every life is 
beautiful and precious when well employed. It is 
not imposed events, not the frame which forms the 
value of an existence, but the soul which reacts and 
adapts itself to exterior conditions. Life is to be 
measured by man's capacity; circumstances in them- 
selves signify nothing, we ourselves give them their 
colour. 

Why, therefore, say that we are atoning for the 
inertia of preceding generations? In this immense 
crucible, the world, time and space are melted. Into 
this infinitely complex mechanism, this intricate 
chemical process we are thrown atom against atom. 
What will come out of the whirlwind? God alone 
knows. But what does the knowledge of these ele- 
ments so diverse and so complex matter to us? For 
God is there. Let us be in His hand like matter in 
that of the artist. Each stroke with the chisel grad- 
ually rough-hews and refines us, rids us of our original 
covering and brings us towards perfection. Ah! if 
we only knew how to let ourselves be chiselled by our 
Maker. Our crime — the crime of ignorance — is that 



196 A CEUSADER OF FRANCE 

we know not how to commit ourselves to Him. It is 
as though the block of marble revolted against the 
sculptor. 

What reflections the emotions of these days of 
war would inspire if the days most fraught with 
emotions were not precisely those on which you 
possess the least freedom of mind! It is better 
so, however, for action alone can save us from our- 
selves. 

Your letters have been, as they always are, a great 
comfort to me. Therefore, how I should love to merit 
your great affection and do something really 
meritorious in proof of my gratitude ! But that debt 
I shall never pay. May God aid me to do my duty 
with docility and humbleness until the time He has 
fixed. Humility ! — the great and strong and beautiful 
virtue. 



BiSCHSTEIN, 

March 10. 

We are still in the midst of winter. It is snowing 
heavily, the weather is very cold, and it will be still 
a long time before these forests resume the appearance 
they had at the beginning of the war. They also bear 
the scars and wounds of battle. 

These pines have brought cruel recollections to all 
of us. Too many of ours — and some of the best — 
met their death among those trees by imprudently, 
bravely throwing themselves in front of the rifles of 
the enemy who, hidden in the thickets, knew how 
to lie in wait and shoot us. We have since gained 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 197 

experience and are less impulsive. But that first im- 
pression is ineJfifaceable. 

For my part, I involuntarily reproach these forests 
of the Vosges for the death of our poor Jean. I 
can picture him so well, with his natural loyalty and 
regardless generosity, throwing himself in front of 
the bullets, and falling (the obscure and anonymous 
victim of the hurricane) without even being noticed 
by his neighbours. Poor brother! Nobody looked at 
him, — ^nobody paid him the slightest attention. In 
the midst of his companions, who hardly knew him, 
he went to the assault without even thinking about 
the others, without seeing whether he was fol- 
lowed. He is among the veritable heroes of this long 
trial, for those whose deeds are unsung are the real 
ones. 

But what men are unable to recognize, God sees. 
Devoid of display, and human glory though his 
death was, Jean will have found on the other side 
of the grave the only glory that matters, the recom- 
pense in comparison with which our rewards are 
vanities. 

The last engagements in this valley of the Schlucht 
at Munster have cost us not a few men. Once more, 
I am the only officer of my company left. Fortu- 
nately, we have just received a reinforcement of 300 
men, of whom I have taken fifty-seven and a few 
N.C.O.'s in my company. 

BiSCHSTEIN, 

March 12. 
Little by little, after the agitations of the last few 



198 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

weeks, we have returned to the monotonous routine 
duties of trench life. 

For five months, shortly, we shall have been 
waging hardly any other form of warfare. Strange 
and stupid war! I can well understand the impa- 
tience of professional army men who have directed 
all their efforts, all their moral, physical and intel- 
lectual energies towards great warfare in the open, 
such as a Frenchman conceives it. I can under- 
stand their vexation at this sedentary warfare, 
without either engagements or movements, and in 
which, instead of tactics and strategy, we find merely 
brutality and force. To all those, the time, near 
at hand, perhaps, when active operations will be 
resumed, will be a welcome relief after their long 
months of waiting. The major Is certainly one of 
them. 

Yes, all this is strange and unexpected. It is per- 
haps a war of civilized men — ^this continuous struggle 
with shells which explode at an enormous distance 
— this grotesque game of hide-and-seek in which 
man, like a frightened beast, cowers in a hole behind 
barbed-wire and abatis, and brings into oper- 
ation, failing himself, all the infernal inventions of his 
industry. 

In any case, it is not a war of heroes, but of deca- 
dents. Here it is no longer individual values which 
come into collision, but machines, monstrous engines 
of war, metal and powder. 

Our ancestors really fought when they closed in 
deathly combat with naked weapons. Yes, that 
proved something, and the conquerors might well be 
proud of their triumph. Moreover, when they had 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 199 

loyally fought, face to face, during the day, they with- 
drew at night to rest, free to be at each other again 
the next day. 

How far off we are from the days of the Horatii 
and Curiatii! 

This is the state of things to which we are brought 
by progress, pagan civilization, materialism, and that 
never satisfied pride which, in the early centuries, 
already built the tower of Babel. 

But if such warfare is not to the honour of our 
modern soul, may it teach us however the action of 
a superior force, of an all-powerful hand which 
plays with our efforts and turns against us, when it 
pleases Him, the creations of our ambitious folly. 
That is the lesson of the events under which we 
have all been bending for long months. May we 
understand its meaning and profit by it to hu- 
miliate us ! 

March 14. 

We have found trench-life again in all its monoto- 
nous splendour. The only incidents are the daily 
bombardments of the villages of Sulzern and Ampfer- 
bach ; or the more or less prolonged rifle-firing on the 
Reichakerkopf, where the situation remains rather 
critical, although to our advantage. 

Our activity consists especially in the organiza- 
tion of our positions; but this work has become 
somewhat tedious since the time it has been always 
the same, and the men no longer show much taste 
for it. . . . Among the number, there remain 
however a few good ones, sharp fellows who have 



200 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

succeeded in saving their skins since the "beginning. 
Sometimes, when passing another company, I am 
accosted hy a man who, full of joy at seeing 
again one of the figures of the early days 
(for they are rare now), reminds me that we marched 
together on such a day, a long time ago, with the 
51st Battalion, or on our first campaign in the 
Vosges. I shake hands with these old soldiers, 
whom I do not always recognize, and in the look 
exchanged between us there is a thought somewhat 
to this effect: ''Hallo, we are then still both of us 
alive?" 

We ourselves — officers and N.C.O.'s — come more or 
less under the influence of this too uniform life. It 
is evident that the digging of holes in the earth and 
the unrolling of barbed wire does not hold out much 
interest to us. And yet that is our whole duty, the 
monotonous and inglorious part of which we must 
forget, seeing only the great cause. The end justifies 
and ennobles the means. 

We have found, on several wounded or dead 
Germans, small tubes or bottles of ether which, as 
they are all of the same model, must have been 
distributed to them in their units, and not sent 
from home, or bought individually. Many have 
also bottles of various forms of alcohol in their 
knapsacks, such as brandy. It is possible, there- 
fore, that the use of these drugs is recommended 
to them and facilitated. But, at least in my own 
experience, I have never had before me those dis- 
orderly and drunken bands of which the news- 
papers write. What struck me, however, at the 
time of their first attacks in February was the in- 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 201 

difference which some of them showed for the bullets, 
by coming and risking their lives quite close to our 
rifles, without appearing to turn a hair, or even to 
notice the bullets we sent them. I had come to the 
conclusion that this attitude must be attributed pre- 
cisely to their inexperience of war, for we have all 
noted the fact that at first one has not a clear im- 
pression of danger. 

At the outposts, 
March 15. 

In addition to rifle-firing, the guns have been 
making a great din of recent days. The Boches 
are utilizing the commanding positions taken from 
us to paralyse by a shower of shells the unfortunate 
villages below — Sulzern and especially Ampferbach 
and its hamlets. Notwithstanding this systematic 
bombardment, almost all the inhabitants have re- 
mained, and take refuge in their cellars the whole 
day. I wonder why the civilian population of these 
villages, with nothing to do so near the enemy, has 
not long since been removed to the rear. . , . But, 
ever since then, why not have evacuated a priori all 
the inhabitants? To think (which is really a little 
bit too stiff) that there lies before us, between the 
lines and still inhabited, an entire hamlet of six to 
eight families! 

A young officer of the 12th related to me that the 
chasseurs frequented, in the village of Metzeral, a 
certain woman, whose movements, shortly before 
the German attacks, appeared suspicious, and on 
whom was found at that time a notebook, in which 



202 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

was set down, next to the days for appointments with 
German N.C.O.'s, all sorts of information concerning 
our troops, the battalions and their numbers, the age 
and appearance of the chasseurs, and I know not what 
besides. This woman was arrested by us. How much 
similar traffic is carried on unknown ! This is another 
of the sorry sides of war and one of the most 
repulsive. 

Near Sulzern, 
March 21. 

A beautiful spring day with a clear sky and a gener- 
ous sun, which, whilst warming us, makes the last 
remnants of snow lingering on the slopes sparkle. 

"We are still at the same spot, on this rocky 
crest that the sun lights up at an early hour of the 
morning and on which its languorous rays gleam at 
twilight. The days are warm. On the still withered 
and yellow grass, between the greyish rocks dappled 
with lichens, the chasseurs saunter and bathe in this 
soft light, which quickens their blood, made sluggish 
by the long winter. 

A violent engagement, foreshadowed by an 
intense bombardment, took place yesterday on the 
Reichakerkopf. The Germans, who had received 
important reinforcements, energetically attacked 
the position, with the support of a considerable 
number of guns. The fight — extremely violent — 
began about 3 p.m., and lasted until about six. 
We could follow the action from our positions by 
seeing the continual bursting of Boche shells, to 
which, alas! ours hardly replied. What a hellish 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 203 

uproar! As to the result — alas! I believe that 
since yesterday evening the Reichakerkopf is no 
longer in our possession. This morning our batteries 
were peppering its summit and outskirts, prov- 
ing that we are no longer there. When the 
Boches want to do anything, they are not easily de- 
terred, no matter what price they may be called upon 
to pay. But really we do not receive sufficient aid 
here from the artillery. One would think that we lack 
munitions. 

At the outposts op Sulzern, 
March 23. 

Another surprise this morning. About nine o'clock 
I received an order to be ready to march about ten, 
without any other indication. 

It appeared that an attempt was to be made 
to recapture the Eeichakerkopf. But, in reality, 
our part, a very secondary one, was limited to 
neutralizing and distracting the German lines by 
intense volleys, whilst the offensive was being 
pushed forward up there. The Boches replied to our 
rifle-fire by peppering us with shells, which did us no 
harm. 

As to the main action on the Eeichakerkopf, I do 
not know what the result has been. Our artillery 
prepared the attack a fairly long time with 120 's, 
75 's and 65 's. The infantry then began its move- 
ment, indicated by rifle-firing, but everything calmed 
down fairly soon. I am still under the impression 
that there is nothing changed up there. That big 
spur, crowned with pines, is becoming one of 



204 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

those points of the front the mention of which fre- 
quently recurs. 

The Reichakerkopf will soon be known every- 
where, at least by name, just as the Bois de la 
Grurie, the Bois de Bolande, or Bois du Pretre in 
Argonne became known; or again the Hartmanns- 
weilerkopf, a little lower down towards Thaun. 
Henceforth, all these names will evoke repeated 
engagements: bloody alternations of advance and 
retreat; and it seems sad and curious that, on both 
sides, such sacrifices should be made for the pos- 
session of a few hundred yards — or even less — 
of territory. The reason is that certain points are 
sufficiently important to justify such efforts; and 
sometimes a gain of fifty or twenty-five metres is 
more advantageous than kilometres taken at other 
points. 

The Reichakerkopf, for the possession of which the 
Boches and ourselves are fiercely disputing, is a 
case in point. The importance of the position is 
due to the fact that it dominates and absolutely 
commands Munster and the whole valley of the 
Fecht. 

March 25. 

We are advancing towards fine weather. Birds are 
burgeoning on every branch; the meadows, through 
which rivulets trickle to the bottom of the valleys, are 
gradually assuming the verdancy of young grass ; and 
the first fiowers are opening timidly. Soon, the birds 
will be singing, and those great sinister flocks of 
crows, which disport in the hollows, will rise again 
towards the heights. 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 205 

Amidst this revival of life, our days remain calm. 
On the Reichakerkopf we have heard nothing more 
since the little counter-attack of the day before yes- 
terday. Throughout the night rockets go up from 
one side or the other, illuminating the whole mountain. 
Obviously, neither the Germans nor ourselves are 
thinking for the moment of a serious offensive. We 
must beware of imagining that our enemies are at an 
end of their resources and means; but neither must 
we lament over the long duration of the war and the 
inferiority of the present troops, compared to what 
they were at the beginning. People in France have 
always had a regrettable tendency to prognosticate, to 
discuss, and to indulge, without discernment, in end- 
less consideration. 

Above all, we are all far too critical. One of the 
great differences between the Boche soldier and 
the Frenchman is that the former carries out 
orders with passive obedience, whilst the latter first 
of all comments upon them. This is the inconveni- 
ence of that quickness of mind which hardly exists 
with the German. A Frenchman is essentially a 
critical being. Already at Feldkirch, I recollect hav- 
ing often met with this difference between the French 
pupil, who understood quickly, passed judgment 
on everything and everybody at the first glance, with 
more or less accuracy, chaffed on every occasion, and 
the German pupil, slow and dull-witted, who under- 
stood with difficulty, or not at all, but who 
never gave up trying. How different the two 
races are! 

The Boches fight out of pride, the English through 
interest, and we for honour. That is perhaps not 



206 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

very profitable to us, but all the same it is not lack- 
ing in savour. France has not finished producing 
Cyranos who will fight "pour le panache." 

Near Sulzern, 

March 31, Wednesday before Good Friday. 

The leisure of these long days of inaction leads 
us to reflect beyond our duties of the moment, and 
this is blameable. Duty is the acceptation of the lot 
which falls to us. Nothing is either vulgar or medi- 
ocre when viewed from a sufficient height, and above 
all our days the ideal ought to soar. 

For some, this ideal is patriotism, more or less en- 
lightened; for others, it is Christian charity, which 
teaches us disinterestedness ; for many, it is the vague 
and profound notion of good to be accomplished. The 
most numerous consciences are those which conceive 
beauty and the necessity of duty confusedly. And I 
imagine that God must take their effort, even unrea- 
soned, towards light and truth into great account. 
For it is not necessary to enunciate one's duty to carry 
it out, and those who accomplish it have no need to 
specify it in formulas. 

In the Trenches near Sulzern, 
April 2, Good Friday. 

Good Friday! What reflections, recollections, and 
reasons for indulging in hope this festival brings to 
our mind — ^this sad and appeasing anniversary of the 
mightiest event the world has ever known ! 

It is a glorious spring morning. The somewhat 



THE VALLEY OP THE FECHT 207 

cloudy sky is of a tender blue, and the softened 
outlines of the still wholly white mountains form 
a marvellous picture on the horizon. Gradually, 
in the already warm rays of the sun, the recently 
fallen snow is melting, revealing between the 
patches left here and there the rich and vigorous 
new grass. The air is still. A gentle breeze from 
the north brings the fresh breath of the heights, 
making the first fragrance of spring seem more 
exquisite. How resplendent the Alps over there 
must be! 

"We are within sight of the end of winter. From 
time to time we shall have days like this. They 
will help us to look more confidently towards the 
future and to entertain the hope of an early deliver- 
ance. The whole of France, nay, of Europe, awaits 
the hour of resurrection and aspires, like this still 
enchained Nature, to break its bounds and enter on 
the new life. We have done with the winter of 
patient and simply confident waiting, and are now 
within reach of early realizations, or of preparation 
for a certainty long since foreseen. But perhaps 
we are again showing a little — impatience? It has 
so often been said that in the spring the war would 
turn to our advantage; we have concentrated so 
many restrained hopes on the weeks and months to 
which we are coming that this general feeling is per- 
haps rather that of the child to whom a cake has been 
promised if he is good, and who comes, the period 
having elapsed without him failing, to claim the 
promised reward. 

It matters little, however. Confidence and hope 
are now for everybody not only the wisest but also 



208 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

the only possible attitude. "We liave everything to 
gain thereby; otherwise, we should have everything 
to lose. But to us and many others this Good Friday 
brings still many graver reasons for confident resigna- 
tion, and less than ever is it the time to give way to 
human considerations. They would seem, on such a 
day, so vain, nay, so criminal. 

A man of my company has just been wounded 
in the side by a bullet, as he was passing along a 
trench commanded by the crest which the Germans 
occupy opposite us. He is seriously hurt. I have 
just been to see and bandage him. The stretcher- 
bearers will come this evening and carry him away 
under cover of the night, but I know not whether he 
will be able to pull through. But what a day on 
which to die! He is a very decent fellow, one of 
those, now becoming more and more rare, who have 
been on campaign since the beginning. Just now, 
whilst I was dressing his wound, and although he was 
in great pain, he insisted on returning to one of his 
comrades twenty-two sous (lie?.) he had borrowed 
yesterday. 

The position we have occupied for the past few 
days, for the second time, and which is still in- 
sufficiently consolidated, has the disadvantage of 
being completely commanded by that of the enemy, 
who holds the outskirts of a wood and a higher 
crest. Day and night the bullets beat down upon 
our trenches from above, and we can hardly reply, 
as we see only the parapets and narrow armoured 
loopholes of the enemy's trenches. During recent 
nights, with the snow and moonlight, which make 
us almost as visible as in daylight, I had one man 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 209 

killed and three others wounded, including two 
N.C.O.'s. 



April 3. 

A few words only on this Easter eve. 

We shall shortly be relieved and go to the Col de 
Bischstein, where we spend to-morrow. I trust that 
the Boches will leave us in peace on that fete day. 
But they are so stupid. 

Au revoirl A joyful Easter to you ! 



Easter day, April 4. 

So it is amidst these pine woods, where the snow 
still lingers, that we are spending this festival of 
Easter! What recollections and images, vague 
desires and confused hopes this festival, ordinarily 
so cheerful and spring-like, awakens! I call to mind 
the enthusiastic walks we made last year with Jean 
during the short vacation at our disposal. I can 
see once more, with minute clearness of detail, those 
landscapes of the Chartreuse which we traversed with 
alert footstep, filling our lungs with that moun- 
tain air whose rude caress sent our blood coursing 
through our veins — ^the air of the Dent de Crolles, 
the Charvet peak, the Granier, the old Casque de 
Neron, and of that ridge of the Rochers de Chalves to 
which we took our friends, the Delormes, one of whom 
has disappeared. 

What dear recollections! I, too, shall find a 
difficulty, if I see once more those summits we 



210 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

climbed together, in accustoming myself to the 
idea that we shall never more set out on those 
mountain excursions of which we were so fond, 
which we so heartily agreed to undertake and 
enjoy together. Very often, without fixing my 
thoughts on the subject, I have had a feeling that 
the void left by his irremediable departure will not 
be wholly perceptible to me until the day when, 
God willing, I return to the spot where my memory 
meets him again. 

Consequently, so long as the war lasts,. I shall be 
absorbed by the present, sufficiently to prevent 
me descending to the depths of regret. Moreover, 
it is better so, and I strive to make it so. 

It is later, when I shall meet you all again yonder, 
in the midst of everything he loved and of everybody 
who saw him alive, that I shall experience the full 
weight of his absence. Henceforth he is in perfect 
happiness. The suffering ones are those who remain 
when the others have left. 

So it is amidst this pine forest we are to-day cele- 
brating Easter. We have no church, not even houses, 
since we inhabit, among the trees, more or less sub- 
terranean shelters, fitted up with the limited resources 
of the place. Nevertheless, a chaplain of the division 
arrived this morning to say a mass almost in the 
open air, under a little wooden shelter, in front of 
which the crowd of infantry stood bareheaded in the 
drizzle. But, in spite of the grey sky and fog, there 
was an air of meditation and fervour about this 
improvised mass, without either bells or candles, which 
in no way approached sadness. I hope that, to- 
morrow, we shall have a similar mass at which we 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 211 

can receive our Easter sacrament. This reminds 
me of a poem by Botrel, in reply to the destroyers 
of crucifixes who raged in France a few years ago, 
and in which the Breton poet said that, if noth- 
ing remains standing of what we erected for 
our religion, if our churches, houses, calvaries and 
crosses are overthrown, "we will pray before the blue 
sky." That is our position here; only the sky is not 
always blue. 

The day has passed off very quietly. Our guns, 
which are generally rather silent, have thundered the 
whole day. At this moment, doubtless in reply, a few 
big shells are falling near here, and the noise of their 
bursting resounds again and again among the pines. 
An exchange of Easter eggs. 

Col de Bischstein, 
Monday, April 5. 

Still the same pouring and lowering sky, the same 
fogs depositing moisture in the form of a fine and 
imperceptible rain. Nevertheless, this evening the sky 
cleared, and we had a pretty sunset on the heights. 
From the neighbouring observatory, whither I had 
ascended with De Landouzy, we gazed upon the valley 
which descend, by way of Stosswihr and Mun- 
ster, towards Colmar, whilst growing broader be- 
tween the slopes, dotted with pines. It is truly a beau- 
tiful country when you can look upon it thus, with- 
out being under the imminent threat of bullets or 
shells ; and when you can momentarily set aside every- 
thing which will eternally make it appear to us to 
be unpleasant and cruel, as though this impassibly 



212 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

beautiful nature was responsible for all the blood it 
has seen flow. 

This morning, in the mud and rain, I descended to 
the Elrmatt camp, quite near here, where the chaplain 
was saying a mass for the companies of the 62nd 
Battalion which have taken up their residence in the 
woods. I am able to confess at the foot of a pine 
tree and communicate at that chance altar, protected 
after a fashion by a sheet-iron roof. Amidst these 
wild surroundings, free from all unimportant display, 
it seemed as though one were nearer God. I prayed 
for all of you, for those dear to me, and for the 
many known or unknown friends who are assisting m^ 
by their prayers. 

To-morrow morning the general of division is com- 
ing here to decorate Major Foret and a captain of 
mountain artillery. Great commotion! — trimming 
ourselves up, review, and the band. The 6th will be 
there to do the honours. 



At the outposts op Bischstein, 
April 9. 

What water ! "Wliat water ! Above and below, in the 
air and on the ground, everywhere, in fact, there is 
water, and it is still falling. At the present time 
there is a veritable tempest of snow and rain, and 
thunder, which we have not heard for many months, 
has just crashed in the sky. How that rumbling, 
coming from unexplored heights and descending with 
the roar of an avalanche, seems almost sweet and 
agreeable compared to the brutal and stupid noise of 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 213 

the guns! Our music and clatter are very mediocre 
imitations. 

It was through oceans of mud and in pitch dark- 
ness that we came down last night from the woods 
of Bischstein to relieve a company at the outposts. 
Bad weather, and all we include in that term, is one 
of the greatest enemies of the soldier on campaign. 
As far as I was concerned, I escaped with wet feet 
and mud-stained clothes; but I am thinking of my 
men who are unable to leave the trench, and who 
must now be huddled under their canvas tents, 
whilst, stoically, they wait for the downpour to 
cease. . . . 

Thus we approach the spring — that spring so pa- 
tiently and ardently expected as the dawn of better 
days. What is happening ? "What is going to happen ? 
The newspapers give the vague impression of some- 
thing hatching — something coming to maturity in 
silence after a laborious gestation. 

We must not place our hopes in a coup de theatre; 
nor must we fix a time within which these hopes are 
to be realized; but we must have confidence in that 
future concerning which nobody, I believe, possesses 
veritable data. It is certain, however, that Joifre 
and his advisers have not remained the whole winter 
without elaborating plans. But it is still more 
certain that the "good God" — He who is the God 
of every one — has also long since decided on His 
projects, and that these will certainly be realized, 
whatever may happen to those of the generals. So, 
let us wait with confidence and joy. I still believe, 
without letting my mind dwell too much on the 
matter, that the solution will come in an unexpected 



214 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

manner and at an unanticipated time. Our joy will 
be only the greater. 

Anyway, everything passes away ; and the most im- 
portant and most serious fact in life is that it must 
come to an end. How ? when ? and after what events ? 
That is of small importance. 

April 12, 

A blue sky at last ! "We have been asking ourselves 
for the past week whether we should survive this 
deluge. The summits towering above us — snow- 
covered balloons or broad wooded declivities — com- 
pose a huge natural amphitheatre in which the light, 
in this fine weather, plays in a marvellous manner, 
especially towards evening, when the sun disappears 
behind the horizon, which is hidden, quite near us, by 
the mighty summit of the Bischstein. Things stand 
out in relief on the opposite slopes, and the oblique 
rays of light, already half -veiled, cast on the meadows 
silhouettes which stretch out as though on multitu- 
dinous sun-dials. 

April 13. 

Whatever people may have said about the 
Alsatians, those we meet here are very hospitable 
and sympathetic. One must make allowance for 
things. I am well aware that many have gone over 
to Germany, and that there has been and will con- 
tinue to be more espionage here than everywhere 
else; but the inhabitants with whom we have to 
do, and who are especially women, children and 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 215 

old people, are honest folk to whom the war appears 
above all as a misfortune, in the presence of which 
everybody ought to help each other. Little sus- 
picion, moreover, can rest on those whose guests we 
are, since the grandfather and grandmother are 
French. I believe that examined thus in detail, 
the majority of the homes of Germany would 
appear to us, almost everywhere, very little inclined 
to war. German women are, in general, good 
housewives, docile and laborious; and we must dis- 
tinguish between the military fagade raised by 
Prussia, with its arrogant and foppish Junkers, and 
the people who, if they were not militarized and hyp- 
notized by this powerful caste of the nobility, would 
be a nation of quiet artisans and ordinary middle- 
class folk. 

What astonishes me is that a war like this, which 
brings such armies into the field and keeps the great- 
est Powers on the alert, has been able to continue 
until now without any interior event interrupting 
its progress. A priori, it would appear that of all 
these great Powers, one or another, if war were 
continued a long time, would witness the appear- 
ance of such economic or political difficulties as 
would decide the fate of the armies. And yet for 
more than eight months the whole of Europe has 
been panting and supports without accident the 
immense effort that the present war represents. 
How is it that none of the belligerent countries 
have been troubled by interior events? Which 
will be the first among them to be affected by dis- 
union, party struggles, revolt, wear and tear — by 
everything one can vaguely fear without seeing it 



216 A CRUSADER OP FRANCE 

clearly, and which, one day or another, may over- 
throw the whole of this at once formidable and 
fragile structure? What questions arise when one 
reflects . . . 

The Prussian Guard, of whose presence in Alsace 
we had been informed, is indeed here, since prisoners 
belonging to a battalion of the infantry of the 
Guard have been taken at Hartman. But it appears 
to be more to the south, and it was perhaps in order 
to attempt to retake this famous summit that it was 
brought here. However, if it is to come to our dis- 
trict, let it do so. We shall be glad to make its 
acquaintance. 

April 18. 

It is Sunday, I believe. Since we have ^een 
living far from the civilized world I can no longer 
remember the day of the week and the date. All 
the days are alike. And what is there on this rocky 
crest, on which we are the only and certainly the first 
inhabitants, to make a difference between them? The 
neighbouring villages at the bottom of the valley are 
silent, being partly destroyed. Their church bells or 
the chimes of their clocks have long since ceased to 
ring. The only sounds which break the silence of 
nature are the rumbling of the guns and the sharp 
crack of rifles. 

They 'phoned a piece of good news to me this 
morning: the adjutant of my company, whom I 
had proposed for the military medal, has been 
decorated. He is a gallant Savoyard who, at the 
beginning of the war, was a sergeant in the 22nd 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 217 

Alpine Battalion. At the famous engagement of 
Mandray, on September 2, when the whole of this 
battalion, thrice in succession, charged the German 
lines, he assumed the command of his platoon, whose 
two chiefs had been killed, led it to the attack, was 
wounded by three bullets and a bayonet thrust 
and, with his four gaping wounds, remained for 
thirty-six hours on the battle-field before he was 
picked up. Hardly cured, he joined the 11th 
Battalion in December, just before the Carency 
affair. 

This morning, as soon as I had received the news 
by telephone, I ascended to the part of the line oc- 
cupied by his section, drew them up in two rank^ 
behind the trench, and made them present arms in 
order to announce the good news to him and con- 
gratulate him before his men — and before the Boches. 
If I had been told in advance, I should have en- 
deavored to have had for to-day a few bottles to 
uncork, for everybody knows that a true Savoyard 
expects to touch glasses on great occasions. But, in 
default of this canon (glass), we had others which 
were roaring behind us; and as to touching glasses, 
we have still time to do that before the end of the 
war. 

I assure you that I am not to be pitied. Every 
one, at this time, fights in his own way, and accord- 
ing to his own position. Our part is still the least 
disagreeable and most enviable, but also the least 
meritorious. What appears to be redoubtable in the 
profession of arms is danger, because everybody 
commits the error of attaching great value to a 
few years of life more or less, and because, knowing 



218 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

only this world, we love it, in spite of everything. 
If we could have for but a second the exact vision 
of what awaits us at the other side of the grave, who 
knows whether we should not desire it with all our 
soul? But we have no need to make ourselves 
uneasy over the hour; it will come at the behest 
of Providence. Whether it is to-morrow or in a hun- 
dred years, let us always reserve for it a hearty 
welcome. 

Strange idea of mine to touch on such a subject 
when everything around celebrates life, when the 
meadows put forth flowers in the generous spring- 
time sun, and the birds sing and make merry in the 
branches. 



April 25. 

Still another Sunday spent without anything 
distinguishing this day from any other. Whilst 
in this valley, where everything rejoices at the ris- 
ing of the sap, we spend a warm, quiet day, the con- 
tinuous rumbling which comes from the other side of 
the neighbouring mountains tells us that the battle 
over there still continues, and that the action must 
be a hot one. It is probable that the engagements 
whose echoes reach us are taking place around the 
Hartmannsweilerkopf. 

You doubtless know that the detachment of the 
army of the Vosges, to which we belong, ceased to 
exist when its leader, General Putz, left the district. 
Since then we are attached to the Vllth Army, com- 
manded by a man whom the war has brought into 



THE VALLEY OF THE FBCHT 219 

great prominence, General de Maud'huy, who was a 
mere brigadier-general at the beginning of the cam- 
paign. He was formerly one of the mountain infantry, 
and did not fail to tell us so in the Artois, when we 
saw him one day on our way from Mingoval to Saint- 
Eloi, At all events, he is a very active man, and I 
do not think you can reproach either him or our new 
divisionary general, de Pouydraguin, with being spar- 
ing with shells. 

For it is certain that since these two soldiers 
took command our artillery has suddenly become 
loquacious. 

Three days ago we witnessed a very sad spectacle 
here: the departure of the country people, all of 
whom are being sent to the rear. Poor old folk with 
reddened eyes and heavy hearts went on their way, 
abandoning everything they had known and loved 
for years, and leading by the hand little children, in 
their Sunday best, whose almost joyful unconcern 
(children rejoice over so little!) contrasted painfully 
with the resigned grief of their mothers and grand- 
parents. Really, these people — those at least who 
entertained us so generously — were very sympathetic 
and estimable. The young wife, whose husband, serv- 
ing in the German army, long since disappeared, 
awakened profound pity. Poor folk! . . . They 
gave us everything they could not carry away with 
them: wine, various provisions, cattle, etc., and have 
left their home, with all its furniture, under our 
care. But they have very little hope of seeing it aU 
again. 



220 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 



April 28. 

The weather is magnificent. The meadows are an 
intense green, the sun is warm, and the leaves are 
beginning to unfold. Long live the spring ! 

This evening we are leaving our trenches and 
ascending in the night to the Col de Bischstein. 

To-day has been quiet, but the bullets descending 
from the Boche trenches furiously impinge on our 
parapets. Yesterday evening I had another man 
killed on the spot by a bullet through his head. They 
aim well in this clear weather. The nights are 
splendid, bathed in moonlight and already almost 
warm. 



April 30. 

The days are long, the air is mild, and the pine 
trees of Bischstein, which we knew when they were 
snowy and inhospitable, have become a charming rustic 
abode. What a change since that moonless night, 
agitated by the din of unsatiated struggles, in the 
midst of the snowbound woods, and without either 
shelter or roof ! To-day a veritable little Sylvan city 
animates this once wild forest, where the roebucks 
passed fearlessly over the virgin moss. Shelters of 
all sorts and sizes are here for those who come from 
below, after a more or less long sojourn in the land 
of trenches. 

Here we no longer feel that continual mental 
strain of trench life, that feeling of ever-threatening 
danger, that attenuated but ever-existing impres- 
sion that the eye of an enemy is watching, ready 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 221 

to send from afar the bullet which surprises and some- 
times kills. 

We rest at night without troubling about keeping 
watch around the hole which shelters us; and if the 
men dig and excavate, it is of their own free will, 
without having to be on their guard against the 
quite near German. Real little houses have been 
constructed and differ in only one respect from 
civilized habitations, inasmuch as they are under 
instead of being above the ground. The major's 
dugout is a masterpiece: a rectangular hut pro- 
tected by a blindage, two metres thick, of pine-tree 
trunks, alternating with earth and stones. Inside, 
a wainscoted interior with a wooden floor, a bed 
with real sheets, a table, chairs, mirror, etc. There 
is nothing missing, unless it is a piano. The en- 
trance is ornamented with a real little garden, 
enclosed within railings, and the attraction of which 
is a large hunting horn, designed with mosses and 
bearing the No. 11 in its circle. There are other 
shelters for the doctors, sappers, agents de liai- 
son, stretcher-bearers, warehouses, provision stores, 
office, etc. A fancy dining-room for fine days has 
been arranged on the outskirts of the forest, with a 
broad glazed window through which we can see the 
Honeck and the Altenberg — a dining-room we in- 
augurated this morning by lunching there with the 
major. Finally, a little chapel is in course of con- 
struction, ''Our Lady of the Pines," which w^U 
advantageously replace the sorry shelter under 
which the Easter mass was celebrated. In brief, it 
is a complete camp, the architecture of which has 
been influenced by the necessity to protect ourselves 



222 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

at one and the same time against the cold, the rain, 
and the shells, and the construction of which does 
honour to the ingenuity of the improvised con- 
tractors. 



May 4:. 

I resume my letter interrupted yesterday. This 
time I no longer write to you from the pine woods 
of Bischstein, but from the ''Villa Carency," which 
is the post of command on Hill . . . It is a shelter 
similar to all those which this war of foxes has 
taught us to construct: a large excavation in the 
ground, covered with a blindage, one to two metres 
thick, made of alternative layers of billets and 
earth. Slightly to the rear, you come to the ter- 
race: a delightful corner, hidden amidst the apple 
trees in blossom, where we have placed a table and 
two benches. The spot is absolutely sheltered from 
the annoying gaze of the Boches, and from it one 
can admire the whole amphitheatre of heights that 
enclose the valley. 

At the present time this Alsatian valley is ex- 
quisite. All the meadows in the hollow are green, 
the orchards in flower; and on every branch little 
tender leaves tremble, eager for the sun. "Water 
flows from all sides towards the bottom of the val- 
ley, and the soft murmurs of these innumerable 
rivulets combine and form a never-tiring lullaby. 
From all this, from the snowy cherry trees, the 
thickets full of birds, and the flower-covered fields, 
arise a secret and irresistible sweetness — that frag- 
rance of the spring we are familiar with every year 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 223 

and whose voluptuous caress, every year, we feel. 

How petty and ridiculous we must be when our 
power of destruction and devastating genius leaves 
our sensibility intact in the presence of this life 
that we are eager to overthrow and that Nature, in- 
tangible and disdainful of our efforts, sets up against 
us. War? Is it anything else than those comical 
ehildi'en's disputes at which we laugh, knowing full 
well that they are ephemeral and without impor- 
tance? Men are big children and their conflicts are, 
in the main, similar; they differ only in degree. It 
is useful, in fact, to estimate and to judge : in all this 
we are but playthings and know not how to control 
ourselves. Let us confidently entrust ourselves to the 
hand that leads us ; for war, even the most formidable, 
is but a very small game for Him who causes the 
spring to bloom again. 

The philosophers of pagan antiquity were per- 
haps nearer God than we are, for already they 
preached self-contempt and confidence in that 
divinity which they divined before they knew it, 
and whose infinite goodness they foresaw. How 
many, even to-day, are there not of these uneasy 
souLs, thirsting for the absolute, who seek God 
without knowing it and sometimes without wishing 
to recognize Him? They walk by the side of the 
truth all their lives; they have a vague perception 
of it — desire it; they are enlightened by the reflec- 
tion of the fire close at hand, which they could meet 
face to face if they would but take a step. Who 
then stops them? What barrier separates them 
from the true light? . . . Pride, weakness, blind- 
ness? — how can I tell! We are all weaklings 



224 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

and seekers in the beyond. Jesus Christ might say 
to each of us from His Cross, as He said to Pascal: 
**You would not seek Me if you had not already 
found Me." 

Therefore, what matter this crashing of shells 
around us ever since morning? What matter these 
bullets which come from the outskirts of the woods 
overlooking us and flatten with a sharp smack above 
our heads? These are but a few of the means that 
He who gave us life may employ to deprive us 
of it. 

At Bischstein, on Sunday, we had a pretty open- 
air mass, in magnificent weather. They are build- 
ing among the pines a little wooden chapel: "Our 
Lady of the Pines." Mass was said by a priest 
stretcher-bearer of the 11th Battalion. During mass 
there were hymns, psalms, and a very fine ser- 
mon by the chaplain of the division, a very sympa- 
thetic young priest of the diocese of Saint-Die, who 
comes right into the trenches to distribute medals and 
cigarettes. 

May 10. 

I received yesterday evening your letter announc- 
ing the departure of my brother Joseph for the 
front. So he, too, in his turn, has joined in in the 
dance! For him it is but a painful separation: 
notwithstanding all his courage and determination to 
master himself, he has had, and will again have to 
feel the sting of isolation, to suffer that anguish of 
heart we experience on leaving behind us all our 
affections, in order to cast ourselves into the un- 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 225 

known. But when the hour of action comes — ^the 
hour when, without even thinking of it, you are 
caught up by the whirlwind — then, like the 
others, like his elders, he will be governed by the 
great duty of the moment; and in that straining of 
his whole being towards that simple and unique 
goal, sacrifice will become easy and spontaneous to 
him. It is not those who leave who are to be pitied, 
but those who, watching them go away, remain 
behind. 

But God is good. If He still demands your 
anguish, as an offering, to be added henceforth to 
your trials, He will not refuse you the secret gift of 
that grace which bestows strength, confidence and 
peace on all. It is that profound peace, promised 
by Himself to the willing souls of this world, one must 
desire and seek above all, and I shall not cease to plead 
to Him for you. 

I have just experienced one of the most pleasant 
emotions of this war, the usual features of which are 
brutality and violence. You doubtless know of the 
important success our troops have gained near Arras. 
It was communicated to us this morning by a tele- 
gram and a little note from the colonel, asking us 
to sing this evening, at 7.30, along the whole front of 
the brigade, the Marseillaise and the Sidi-Brahim. 
Was it not right that the Boches, who do not fail to 
ring all the bells of Munster for each of their real or 
imaginary successes, should also hear us in our turn 
celebrating a victory? So we prepared to sing at 
the above-named hour. 

About seven o'clock, before night had quite 
closed in, rockets began to go up from all points of 



226 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

the line. From the outskirts of the village at the 
bottom of the valley, from the trenches suspended 
half-way up the slope, from the bare crests or wooded 
heights of all the corners of this Alsatian valley 
where Alpine soldiers shelter, we could see rising, 
in long trails of light, the interwoven parabolas, end- 
ing in as many sparkling globes which, while turning 
round and round, slowly descended. This was the 
signal. A few minutes afterwards every voice began 
to sing those war songs the national anthem and 
the Sidi-Brahim. The execution was not impeccable. 
But what an impression we received on hearing 
those alert rhythms coming from the earth or fall- 
ing from the heavens, and echoing down the ravine! 
The Boches gave no sign of life; they must have 
been listening and wondering what such a concert 
meant. 

But this concert had hardly begun when the 
bells of the ruined villages — ^those bells which had 
been silent for more than two months — began them- 
selves to ring, mingling their joyful notes with ours. 
This time the Boches were not at all pleased. 
Doubtless irritated by still hearing the bells ringing 
in those poor steeples which they thought they had 
for ever reduced to silence, they opened on the vil- 
lages an artillery fire which continues even now. A 
storm of shells is falling. If the steeples, shattered 
so many times already, are still standing to-morrow, 
it will be because they will never fall. At all events, 
if some steeple or other has received the coup de 
grace to-night, the bells it shelters will have executed 
a fine swan-song. "We ourselves were not spared. 
The Boches, to prove to us that they had clearly 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 227 

heard, sent in three volleys of shrapnel. Nobody 
was hit. 

The programme did not end there. About nine 
o'clock the band, having ascended for the occasion 
on to that big spur we call the rocky crest, which 
overlooks the ravine, struck up. It first of all played 
the Marseillaise, then the Sidi-Brahim, and after 
that the Protestation. Finally the buglers sounded 
the thirty-one refrains of the battalions, concluding 
with a furious charge, which everybody accom- 
panied by shouting at the top of his voice. This 
time, if the Boches do not think that Italy has 
declared war, or that the Russians are before the 
walls of Budapesth, there's nothing more to be done 
than to hand in one's resignation. In any case, 
this will still prove to them that our moral is not 
so bad. It is not the last time they will find that 
out! 

Surrounded by so touch desolation, so many ruins 
and tears, the recollection of that spring night will 
stand out in my memory as a golden moment. And 
of all the incidents in this war which I shall later 
find pleasure in recalling, if I survive it, nothing per- 
haps will have retained more fragrance and more 
charm than that night sown with stars and filled with 
the music of the bells and the band. 



May 11. 

We have had exceedingly fine weather for the 
end of our stay on this hill . . . which we are leaving 
in the night. "We have never remained anywhere 
(neither in the Somme, nor in Belgium, nor in 



228 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

Artois) so long as here, where we came on Febru- 
ary 19. The beginning was hard because of the en- 
gagements, the snow, the cold, lack of shelters, food 
difficulties. But gradually all that improved. The 
German attacks calmed down; the cold, more tena- 
cious, also ended by giving way; we established our- 
selves by constructing shelters and digging holes; we 
adapted ourselves to this life. Then the civilian popu' 
lation was evacuated and we came in for their houses. 
"We even acquired, before their departure, a number 
of animals they were unable to take away with them. 
At one time, the 6th Company found itself in pos- 
session of two asses, three goats and three calves. The 
last-named were eaten at the mess, for which I 
bought them. (Who would have thought that one 
day I should deal in cattle!) The dogs follow us 
in our comings and goings. Of the two asses, one 
is reserved for the kitchen department, transport- 
ing the caldrons and miscellaneous kitchen utensils 
which follow us in our movements from place to 
place; the other is the exclusive property of the 
officers, and is completed by an unspeakable little 
cart on which our canteens are removed. Finally, the 
two goats are also our own property and provide 
us with milk, for we hardly drink anything else at 
our meals. 

As you see, the company has gone in for a regular 
little menagerie, and if the war lasts still longer, lead- 
ing us towards new resources, I ask myself whether 
the battalion will not become a sort of nomadic tribe, 
similar to those which wandered about the world in 
prehistoric times. 

This evening, since we are ascending into the 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 229 

woods, the camp will begin to move a little before 
the company, which progresses more slowly, and which 
must not be encumbered by a retinue whose appear- 
ance is evidently not very military. The asses, carts, 
stew-pots, barrels, goats, dogs, etc., will decamp under 
the guidance of the cooks and orderlies, transporting 
our household gods to other scenes. And every four 
days it is all brought back. 

One gets accustomed to everything, even to war. 
We even end by sometimes completely forgetting the 
Bodies, notwithstanding the few shells which explode 
here and there, or the bullets which at times whistle 
by. These noises end by becoming as familiar as 
those of trams in the town, or torrents in the moun- 
tains, and so long as their intensity does not exceed 
the customary dose, we no longer pay great attention. 
That is the reason why in time, here as elsewhere, 
we watch the leaves and meadows turn green, and 
admire a pretty landscape or a beautiful sunset, be- 
cause we become insensible to the man-made ugliness 
of war, but not to the beauties of the world which 
God created. 

If ever I return among you, I shall watch the 
summits of Belledone grow roseate, on beautiful 
Dauphiny evenings, with the same heartfelt admira- 
tion; with the same fervour I shall go, on days of 
freedom, to breathe the intoxicating air of the heights 
and to gather the simple flowers whose perfume is 
distilled by the mountain; and nothing of all this 
that I have known and loved, and that, notwithstand- 
ing the melancholy of the void created since, I shall 
find again the same, will seem to me to be changed. 
How eagerly Jean and I tasted the joys of that moun- 



230 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

tain on which we loved so much to wander together! 
Henceforth all that forms part of my recollections. 
And when once more I visit those summits we climbed 
together so cheerfully, it will ue less to seek there 
the voluptuous charm of emotions yet unknown than 
to find there again, as on a pilgrimage, the indelible 
trace of his passage. 

May 15. 

For the past four days we have been in the woods, 
on the slopes which descend, from the high barrier 
which separates us from France, towards the bottom 
of the valley where the first villages are — Sulzern and 
Stosswihr, now a mass of ruins and deserted homes. 
We inhabit the Mulwen-Wald, a broad rectangular 
patch of pine trees growing on the slope sheltered 
by a secondary valley. These woods, thus perched 
on rocky, grassy slopes, are characteristic of this 
region, and I have never seen anything similar in our 
Alps: immense expanses of meadow-land, which is 
almost everywhere uncultivated and strewn with 
stones, apart from the areas enclosed by low walls 
close to the houses, and which, with their thick green 
grass, abounding with flowers, contrast with the grey- 
ness of the whole. The entire watershed of the 
Vosges, looking towards the Rhine, is thus made up 
of woods and pasture-lands, which share the sides 
of the hills or the rounded knolls on the mountain 
ridges. 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 231 

May 25. 

Even on the most uneventful days, our time is 
eaten up by a multitude of petty occupations, and 
it is difficult to find a few hours which are not inter- 
rupted by some necessity or other connected with our 
duties. Stripes, especially in war time, bestow 
more duties than privileges; and those wearing 
them have received them, not for themselves, but for 
others. 

For my part, I would willingly have yielded the 
excessive honours heaped upon me to others, not only 
on account of my own taste, which would have been 
too poor a reason, but because of bare equity; for it 
would not have been difficult to find others worthier 
and more able than myself. What happened did not 
depend on myself. And since God has permitted me 
to occupy this post, I must do my best to fulfil my 
task. I, by my own means, do not suffice, I count 
on God granting me the necessary help to do 
what He demands. I know that I can count on your 
prayers. 

However, I must admit that command has been 
less heavy to bear than I feared it would be. I have 
never regarded myself, and do not even to-day regard 
myself as born to command. But that is not the 
point. What we are able to do, that of which each 
of us may be the author, does not merely depend 
on the instrument he is himself, but especially on 
the hand which handles it. And very often, when the 
work is completed and the instrument at rest, we 
would refuse to believe that it could have been handled 
in that manner. 



232 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

What I can say to you, at any rate, is that, if I 
return from this war, I shall have no difficulty what- 
ever in feeling in my element among you and in re- 
suming the course of the life I led before this one. 

This evening we leave the woods of Bischstein and 
our shelters among the pines, and go and relieve a 
company at Eck, on that immense brow whose base, 
encompassed on the east by the Sulzern River, the 
Kleinthal, and on the south by the Fecht of Ampfer- 
bach, vanishes from the sight of the temple and the 
first houses of Stosswihr. 

Meanwhile, Joseph is getting acquainted with 
trench life and is gradually becoming a poilu. I am 
sure that he will quickly grow accustomed to this 
existence, so new to him, notwithstanding all there is 
in it contrary to his tastes and character. 

May 26. 

Beautiful weather, a summer sun, tall grass abound- 
ing with flowers, concerts among the birds in the 
branches, swarms of flies among the rubbish of the 
houses destroyed by shells. Here and there a few rifle- 
shots, a few shells little to be dreaded. We are watch- 
ing each other and waiting. 

May 27. 

For the past two days we have been at the out- 
posts of Eck, a small hamlet the houses of which are 
placed in rows one above the other on the slope of 
an enormous brow which descends from the wooded 
spur of Bischstein to Stosswihr. Here we tower 
over the valley, where, spread out, are first of all 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 233 

the picturesque houses of Stosswihr and then, a 
little farther off, those of Munster, whose two brick 
steeples rise above gables. Influenced by a consider- 
ation that the Boches cannot perhaps understand, 
our artillerymen avoid as much as possible the bom- 
bardment of Munster, which spreads out there, so 
near us, under our eyes and to our very feet, 
and where life seems to have hardly suffered through 
the war. The pointed roofs of the little light- 
coloured houses with green shutters smoke each day 
tranquilly. The hours strike in the massive clock- 
tower of the cathedral without our guns (so over- 
whelming when they desire to be so) becoming 
irritated at this life, which they respect loyally. 
Munster has quite the stamp of the little Alsatian 
towns of the Black Forest or of Hary. The houses 
there are small, low and unobtrusive under their big 
grey roofs; the streets are narrow and sinuous; and 
one sees few large buildings but many chalets, which 
are scattered about on the circumference of the town, 
and the gables or only the weathercocks of which 
emerge from the thick clumps of trees amidst which 
they are hidden. 



ECK, 

May 28. 

This time I write to you, not under the burning- 
hot sun of the last few days, but amidst fog and 
rain. From the top of the house which shelters me, 
from the artillery observatory installed in the roof, 
you can to-day no longer see either the steeples on 



234 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

the chalets of Munster. Only the flowery meadows 
which descend and are lost in the sad fog are visible ; 
and the only frame is that of the immediate surround- 
ings, with their groups of burnt or ruined houses. 
How pleasant and cheerful this little district must 
have been before the war! 

But war came. Eck has become, like all these 
hamlets of Alsace, a heap of ruins, a place of desola- 
tion and solitude, a charnel-house and a tomb. One 
day the peasants who had remained rooted to their 
homes were surprised by an avalanche of German 
shells, as the peaceful inhabitants of Pompeii were 
in former days by the ashes of Mount Vesuvius. 
One by one the houses were aimed at and hit. 
Some burnt on receiving the first shells; others 
resisted longer and only fell after several bombard- 
ments ; a few remained standing, with ony gashes and 
holes in their walls or roofs. Those who escaped 
death fled, leaving all their possessions behind them; 
several were burnt alive, or buried under the ruins. 
Cattle were killed in the stables. It is a long time 
now since the Germans fired on Eck; they could 
take aim at nothing save dilapidated walls or pierced 
and tottering roofs. 

I inhabit one of the least damaged of these houses. 
Three or four shells fell on its roof, but many tiles 
are stiU intact. I am installed on the ground-floor, 
in a room which we have had cleaned as well as 
possible, but where there remains a prodigious 
number of black-beetles which run at full speed 
and in all directions on the floor. The house pos- 
sesses a good vaulted cellar, where the telephone is 
fixed up, and where we can take refuge in case of a 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 235 

bombardment. The agents de liaison occupy a 
neighbouring cellar. The two companies which 
hold this sector are a little lower down, in trenches 
suspended on the slopes which directly command 
Stosswihr. 

This sector, which we occupy for the first time, is 
a dismal one, doubtless because of the desolation sur- 
rounding US; but in France good humour is ever 
uppermost. As the Boches, notwithstanding all the 
shells they have expended on this single village, have 
not killed everything, flowers continue to open in the 
gardens and lilac bushes shed their perfume around 
crumbling calcined walls. 

Perpetual preparations on all sides here. New guns 
are placed in position daily. The organizations we are 
preparing are certainly with a view to an important 
offensive. 

The world's events appear more and more incom- 
prehensible to us. Whither are we going? No- 
body, I firmly believe, can say. What is certain, is 
that for each of us life, whatever may be the dis- 
advantages and adventures which fill it, will end in 
death. Sooner or later, what matter! And what 
signify also the most treacherous things of this world, 
since the world will pass away and passes away each 
day. 

Amidst the emotions or perils of a battle-field, 
or else in the simplicity of humble home duties, 
our lifetime ebbs away drop by drop . . . and 
each of these drops of time, like the labourer's field 
in the fable, conceals a treasure. We are wrong in 
perpetually setting our hearts on something. Wis- 
dom, which consists in being content with our lot, 



236 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

seems so simple, so easy. It is nothing and it is 
everything. 

BiSCHSTEIN, 

June 1. 

The months roll on and summer opens, even Here. 
It seems as though these long summer days were ever 
made for victories. Let us have patience and put our 
trust in God ! 

ECK 

June 3. 

"We are awaiting the rain, the lightning, the storm, 
a discharge from this leaden sky which bears down 
upon us like an overwhelming yoke. The air is stag- 
nant and heavy, and in this stove-like atmosphere 
the persistent and innumerable flies buzz about 
in irritating clouds. The Boches, like ourselves, 
drowsily await the beneficent downpour in the depths 
of their nauseous trenches. In this motionless heat 
the ruins of Eck emit an odour of carrion; foul 
stenches rise in whiffs from the earth thrown over 
the bodies of dead animals. To escape from these 
emanations, we remain in the room, still respected by 
the shells, of the house, of which we are the inhabi- 
tants since yesterday. 

A short time ago we were looking through the 
window of the garret which serves as a look-out 
for the artillerymen. But the Boches, whom we 
could not succeed in seeing, must have caught sight 
of us, for a .77 shrapnel came and burst close to 
us, and obliged us to leave our post. The battery 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 237 

which sent us that plaything has doubtless no 
spare ammunition, for it there and then stopped its 
outlay. 

In the sinuous and complicated trenches which the 
Boches have constructed opposite ours there does 
not appear to be many soldiers; they are probably 
guarded merely by an inconsiderable cordon of 
watchers. I believe that, having firmly established 
their entrenchments and protected themselves by 
a profusion of barbed-wire entanglements, they 
leave small units to watch the first lines, whilst 
holding in reserve, a little in the rear, at Munster 
for instance, companies capable of being rapidly 
brought to one point or another, according to re- 
quirements. It is indisputable that they possess con- 
summate science in the consolidation of the ground 
and the utilization of their means of action. The 
plan of their trenches is drawn up in accordance 
with studied principles; and flanking by means of 
machine-guns, now so important, is always marvel- 
lously assured with them. It is doubtless by reason of 
their example (they have taught us so many things 
in this war) that the rule for machine-guns con- 
sists, when on the defensive, in placing them as far 
as possible in advance of the trenches, so as to sweep 
the whole of the ground by enfilade fire parallel to the 
axis of the trench. 

I am glad to know that Joseph is getting used to 
trench-life. He has too much energy, strength, high 
spirits and good humour not to become master of the 
situation very quickly. Moreover, notwithstanding his 
isolation, he is not abandoned; he is, like each of us, 
in the keeping of God. 



238 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

June 5. 

"We leave Eek this evening. The whole battalion 
is to assemble in a few days somewhere in the woods. 
What does this gathering mean? What have they 
got for us to do? I know nothing about it and 
don't want to bother myself. It is very probable 
that within the next few days an important action 
will take place in our district. By the grace of 
God! 

I have no need to ask you for the assistance of 
your prayers for me and for all those I am to lead. 
I hope, moreover, that the 11th Battalion, faithful 
to its fine traditions, will comport itself there worthily, 
as it has done elsewhere. 

Haeslen Camp, 
June 12. 

We are among the pines, in the hollow of a ravine 
which more or less shelters us from eventual shells. 
We are training in view of coming hardships, for it is 
still rumoured that we are going to take part in an 
important action around Metzeral. . . . 

Very pretty and soul-stirring was that mass 
among the pines, with singing, the band, and an 
admirable resonant sermon by the chaplain. . . . 
But for all that I do not relinquish the medals 
and crucifixes you gave me, but always carry them 
on me. 

June 14. 

My dear papa, here we are at the date when we 
usually prepare to celebrate your anniversary. This 



THE VALLEY OF THE FECHT 239 

year everything is so different that the wishes we can 
offer you are all united in that great desire to see 
each other again which sums up all our hopes. But 
one hardly dares to wish anything. The best we can 
do is to pray for each other and to remain closely 
united by remembrances and affection. Only on the 
day when God brings us together again will there be 
any true anniversary in this world for us. 

If that day is not to dawn, we also know towards 
what heights our hope must be directed. Boundless 
confidence is in those who believe. 

We are on the point of departure. To-night we leave 
our camp to approach the neighbouring region where 
a big offensive is to take place. I know that you will 
pray for me, and great is my confidence. 



METZEEAL 



CBfAPTER VII 

METZERAL 



June 15. 



Magnificent weather : a day made for victory. Since 
yesterday the guns on all sides roar incessantly. The 
din is infernal. Machine-guns and fusillades crepitate 
at intervals. Aeroplanes are humming as they circle 
round and round in the blue and sunny sky. This is 
indeed war. 

We are in the woods with piled arms, ready to 
march at the first signal. 

I am very well. My desire is to kill Boches. 

Long live France! 

June 17. 

What a din ! Shells have been falling and bursting 
like fury around us since this morning. The battalion 
came to the first line to relieve the units, fairly hard 
hit, which captured the Braun-Kopf from the Boches 
during the last few days. 

The Braun-Kopf is a large, rocky and sparsely- 
wooded hill which commands Metzeral on the south, 
and is itself commanded by another higher and more 
important hill, the Almatt-Kopf. These two Kopf 

243 



244 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

are connected by a sort of entrance. The Boches' 
trenches, formidable, and bordered by barbed wire, 
furrowed in several tortuous lines the brow of the 
Braun-Kopf. The first attack, made on the 15th, 
succeeded, after a mighty artillery preparation, in 
taking the summit of the Braun-Kopf. 

On the 16th the same battalion, the 6th, captured 
fresh trenches, and now the whole of the Braun-Kopf 
is ours. The 11th Battalion has come to relieve the 
6th, which has had not a few losses. My company is 
not the farthest advanced ; we are in a trench running 
parallel with the departure point, where the attack 
has not been able to progress, a hundred metres from 
a small wood, called the Bois Noir, which the Boches 
hold. 

The scene is not a pleasant one. The brow of the 
Braun-Kopf is completely devastated by the artillery. 
There is hardly a spot where the earth has not been 
torn up ; everything is topsy-turvy — an unimaginable 
intanglement of barbed wire and twisted, shattered, 
torn-up Chevaux de frise — a mass of debris, ripped 
open earth-bags, dead bodies of infantrymen and 
Germans, some of them half buried, others mutilated 
by shells, and sometimes Boches and Frenchmen side 
by side, all in strange attitudes, just as they were 
when death seized them. Rifles, the bayonets of which 
glitter in the sun, are strewn by the side of these 
bodies. . . . An indescribable picture of havoc and 
ruin! 

Three companies of the 11th Battalion, arranged 
in a semi-circle on the slope of the ridge, now 
occupy the conquered trenches and endure this 
infernal avalanche of iron stoically. The enormous 



METZERAL 245 

210 and 150 mm. shells, which you can hear coming 
from afar, slowly and with insidious murmur, pulver- 
ize the round-topped hill, which at times disappears 
under clouds of black smoke and red dust. Above 
the blue flakes of the .77 shrapnel scatter uninter- 
ruptedly. Where we are a few shells arrive from time 
to time ; but up to the present they have fallen outside 
the trench and have wounded only one man of the 
company. 

The valley of the Fecht opens before us, and at the 
base of the slopes the village of Metzeral, which our 
artillerymen have been shelling for two days past, 
is burning, house by house. A great part of it is 
already in ruins. On the houses still intact the shells 
are pouring, destroying everything and lighting fresh 
fires. What a spectacle! And what a war which 
destroys everything, spares nothing, and seems to have 
no other object than to annihilate ! 

They are also fighting on the other side of the 
valley: the neighbouring division, the 66th, is acting 
on the offensive at the same time as our own. These 
two movements are, doubtless, to converge near the 
bottom of the valley, on the lower side of Metzeral. 
On the opposite crest we can clearly see the black 
clouds of earth as the big shells burst. Yesterday 
afternoon we watched through our glasses an assault 
made over there by a company of infantry, and fol- 
lowed quite well the two successive waves of little 
black specks advancing over the meadows and leaping 
into the Boehe trench, where the fight was continued 
with hand-grenades. 

All that is hard work. Against positions organized 
as the Germans know how, the role of the infantry, 



246 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

even after the artillery has done its part, is not 
easy. An intense and prolonged preparation, a 
powerful concentration of fire which almost an-i 
nihilates the works to be taken and their garrisons, i^ 
necessarj''. 

Here the artillery preparation had been carefully 
carried out. During the first attack the firing lasted 
four hours, during which the peppering of the enemy 
positions never ceased. Advantageous points have 
been taken, but at a heavy cost. Fortunately the 
Boches have also had losses. 

During yesterday and the day before we took about 
450 prisoners. We saw a detachment of them pass 
yesterday evening on their way to Gerardmer; they 
were all very dirty and very glad to be henceforth 
safe and sound. 

I do not believe that the offensive is over; and 
there will doubtless be still more work to be done 
hereabouts. 

I no longer dream of the future ; I no longer make 
plans, and I should like to be without a desire. The 
future is according to the will of God. For the time 
being, I desire merely to do my duty as well as pos- 
sible; the rest does not depend on me. 

June 19. 

The uproar continues, or rather it recommences 
after a quiet morning. The artillery is preparing for 
the attack which is to be resumed this evening. It is 
probable that we shall be in action before night. For 
the time being my company is on the Braun-Kopf. 
The Boches have been driven to the bottom of the 



METZERAL 247 

slopes and we have advanced to the outskirts of Metz- 
eral. This evening we ought to continue to progress 
and endeavour to capture the village and the Bois 
Noir, which up to now has resisted. The two com- 
panies which have advanced have been somewhat 
put to the test: a captain and a sub-lieutenant are 
killed. Major Foret is seriously wounded on the 
hand. 
By the grace of God! 

June 20. 

I am still on my legs and well. For some time 
past I have been reckoned in the battalion as one 
of the "unkillables," and, although the war is far 
from finished, I ask myself whether a bullet or a shell 
will ever do for me. My heartfelt thanks are 
due to God for sparing me so long, and I shall be 
hard set later to merit my many escapes from 
death. 

But all is not over, and the occasions will be still 
numerous. At the very moment I am writing to you 
130 mm. shells are bursting close to our trench, the 
fragments whistling over our heads. If one of these 
marmites falls on the shelter where I am, it will be 
all up with me. . . . But why talk about that ? Why 
even think of it? "We ought to desire neither life 
nor death, knowing neither what awaits us in this 
world, nor what the next reserves for us. Very often, 
on seeing, as everywhere here, the bodies of those 
who have fallen under shot or shell, I think we ought 
not to pity them, and that their death affects us still 
more than it does them ; because they have often had 



248 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

no time to suffer, whereas we retain regret and pro- 
longed sorrow at their absence. Yes, the real victims 
of death are those who continue to live. It is the 
same with death as with a departure: the most dis- 
tressed are not those who go away, but those who see 
them depart. 

However, let us know how not to wish for an^^- 
thing. We love life because, in spite of all, being of 
this world, we see with worldly eyes. If we knew the 
other life — the true one — which is hidden behind what 
we call death, we should desire it to the extent of 
detesting that which is lent to us for a few years. "We 
should be always perfectly happy if we did not blind 
ourselves. 

I cannot tell why to-day I make all these wholly 
abstract reflections to you, when we are surrounded 
by the realities of war. There are so many dead lying 
around us on the devastated ground that we cannot 
refrain from thinking of what remains of so many 
lives suddenly cut off. 

Yesterday evening we began an attack on the Bois 
Noir, an evil pine wood from which the Boches obsti- 
nately refuse to decamp, and from which it is difficult 
to dislodge them, because they have barbed wire and 
machine-guns everywhere. The Boches, seeing that 
we threatened to debouch on to the slopes of the 
Braun-Kopf, immediately opened an intense barrage 
fire with the .77 batteries, the .105 howitzers and a 
large 130 gun which carries from Munster. The 
first section of my company had hardly begun its move- 
ment outside the trench when it was met by a continu- 
ous storm of bullets. Three men were killed and a 
dozen wounded. 



METZEEAL 249 

The Boches have lost several important positions; 
we have driven them as far as the lower part of the 
valley. They are holding on in Metzeral, on the out- 
skirts of the ruined village, where their machine-guns 
are still hidden. General de Pouydraguin, who com- 
mands our division, has just been mentioned in De 
Maud'huy's army orders for the brilliant results ob- 
tained these last few days. 

For the moment, we must at all cost retain this 
Braun-Kopf which the 6th Battalion captured. 
Poor 6th Battalion! The ground is strewn with its 
dead bodies, which we find everywhere — in the grass, 
in the Boche trenches, in shell-holes, and in the trench 
running parallel with our lines {parallel d'attaque), 
on which the German batteries poured a furious fire 
when the offensive began. As to the Braun-Kopf, it 
is an appalling charnel-house. . . . Ah! this is not 
fighting in kid gloves. 

June 21. 

A hard day! . . . Never before has the 6th Com- 
pany been through so trying an ordeal. 

In action this morning with another company, we 
rapidly gained a good bit of ground hy advancing 
on the lower slopes of the Braun-Kopf, in conjunction 
with the 22nd Battalion, which was attacking Metze- 
ral at the bottom of the valley. This village, which 
had just been overwhelmed under an avalanche of our 
big shells, was easily occupied in a few seconds by 
the 22nd. 

We advanced at the same time and dislodged the 
Boches from the trenches to which they were stick- 



250 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

ing at the lower part of the Braun-Kopf. But, either 
by bullets, or especially by the shells which were rain- 
ing down to stop our advance, many of our brave 
infantry fell. All my chefs de section are gone, Cap- 
depon and two others being killed and the fourth 
rather seriously wounded. I cannot tell exactly how 
many men I have left. A sad evening! . . . The 
last houses of Metzeral are burning. . . . 

God has spared my life, but how I know not! 



June 22. 

The Germans, doubtless somewhat exhausted, have 
shown to-day not the slightest desire to counter- 
attack. "We have, all the same, made them reflect 
just here the last few days," is what I repeat to 
myself, in order not to deplore too bitterly the 
grievous losses with which we have purchased 
success. 

On the evening of the day before yesterday we 
relieved another company of the battalion at the 
advanced positions on the Braun-Kopf. Yester- 
day morning, about nine o 'clock, the order came to get 
ready to march and to advance in conjunction with 
the 22nd Battalion, which was attacking Metzeral. 
For more than two hours past our heavy artillery had 
been literally pounding this unfortunate village to 
pieces. The movement began at ten o 'clock. My com- 
pany was the first in action, immediately on the left 
of the 22nd, which was already entering the ruins of 
Metzeral. 

The ground on which we had to manoeuvre was 



METZERAL 251 

very cut up and uneven, with the result that the 
views were very restricted. To conform to the 
movement of the 22nd Battalion, which I had been 
ordered to support, I sent the four sections of my 
company into action in little columns, one by one, 
ready to deploy. And they marched, and very 
well too. . . . Gallant fellows! Already tired 
and fatigued by four days and nights passed under 
hard conditions, they boldly went into battle, 
advancing under a deluge of shells and amidst a 
veritable storm of bullets. Shrapnel whistled in- 
cessantly over our heads, whilst the deafening burst- 
ing of big shells surrounded us on all sides; and to 
such an extent that our losses were principally due 
to marmites. 

Here we came in contact with the Boches, who, 
badly entrenched and already shaken, gave way 
before us. But before withdrawing towards the 
thickets at the lower part of the valley, they fired 
a few rifle-shots almost point-blank, and in that way 
two sub-lieutenants fell at the head of their section. 
Capdepon is one of them — killed by a bullet 
through his heart whilst leading on his men. 
He met the impeccable death becoming to him. 
Yesterday evening, on going to remove his body from 
the grass and collect the articles he had on him, I 
found him stretched at full length, in the atti- 
tude he had when death surprised him, his features 
perfectly composed, the face natural and bearing 
its usual expression. This is a beautiful and 
decent — an irreproachable death! Jean must have 
died in the same manner on August 29 among the 
broom of the Pass of Anozel. In the presence of 



252 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

such deaths one asks oneself whether one ought to pity 
or to envy. 

Capdepon's death is a serious loss for our com- 
pany and the 11th Battalion. 

The three other chefs de section of the company 
also fell. One of them was a very young adjutant 
— he was only eighteen — named D'Eichtal, a tall 
fair-complexioned youth with a fine hearing and very 
brilliant, and who would soon have made an excellent 
officer. . . . 

But this is war. And not the least of its cruelties 
is to have to look coldly on all those who have fallen 
around us. However, though the school is a hard one, 
I do not doubt that it is salutary. 

Au revoir! — the guns are at work and shells 
whistle in all directions. In Metzeral, which is still 
burning, the cartridge depots abandoned by the Ger- 
mans are exploding with a crackling sound. It is 
raining. Pray for me. 

June 23. 

The Boches are decidedly depressed; they have 
hardly shown any sign of life since yesterday. Need- 
less to add that the bodies they have left about us 
give evident signs of death. "When patrolling at night 
in the thickets, we find almost everywhere abandoned 
knapsacks and rifles and heaps of articles of all sorts : 
spiked helmets, equipments, great-coats, tools, and 
even bottles of old Bordeaux — some of them empty, 
the others not yet uncorked, so they had not time to 
drink it all before making off. At any rate this time 
they have touched glasses containing something else 



METZERAL 253 

than Bordeaux. Out of revenge, their artillery is 
peppering us with shells ; but now that we are under- 
ground it does us little harm. Much noise and a very 
small result. 



June 26. 

Decidedly, it looks as though the Boches had no 
great desire to come and provoke us. Since our move- 
ment has stopped we neither see nor hear them, and 
one would think they had taken French leave but for 
their guns which, day and night, distribute a few 
shells among us, or their star-shells which go up from 
night until morning from the outskirts of the Bois 
Noir, from which we shall not be long perhaps in 
dislodging them. 

July 1. 

Another month has come round, the eleventh of 
this incredible war. No one can say how many months 
will yet be completed, how many others will open 
before this terrible problem has been solved. 

Really, it is impossible to fail to put our trust in 
Providence, which knows where it is leading us and 
along what paths. How then do those who do not 
believe in anything manage at this time? 

But are there really people who do not believe 
in anything? That is a question I am asking my- 
self more than ever. Doubtless certain folk pro- 
fess to be free-thinkers, but at bottom When, 

standing face to face with themselves, they calmly 
consider the incomprehensible enigmas of their own 



254 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

existence, do they really believe in nothing at all? — 
in no cause, in no end? That is humanly im- 
possible. They are merely assuming an attitude, 
adopting a convenient but hollow formula behind 
which to hide their embarrassment, their doubt, or 
their pride. Man necessarily believes in something 
beyond human ken, in something not himself and 
which governs, precedes and survives him. We can 
all say: "I am, therefore I believe," as Descartes 
said: ''I think, therefore I am." For the slightest 
act of intelligence, the tiniest spark of moral life 
exceeds the boundaries of the visible world and is 
dependent on another domain. No, those who say: 
"I do not believe in anything," deceive themselves; 
and when they add: ''I do not feel the need of belief," 
they seek to deceive others. These people either 
preach of their own free will and are sinful; or else, 
at the most, they seek freedom from doubt. If 
they doubt, they are to be pitied and enlightened. 
But in that case they are no longer unbelievers, other- 
wise they would not be possessed by this torment 
of doubt. 

One of the profitable lessons of these great events 
of the war will be and is already this, that they have 
greatly illuminated the darkness and placed face to 
face with the truth — so plain and so near — 
many souls who were seeking it elsewhere, or who 
pretended to ignore it. But it is never truth which 
flees from us; it is we ourselves who sometimes turn 
aside from it, because, relying on our own 
poor abilities, we cannot distinguish the true from 
the false, and mistake the false lights lit by our- 
selves for the true beacon. The most uncom- 



METZERAL 255 

promising of heretics are perhaps quite near the true 
light: sometimes they have but a step to take, an 
act of humility or a little "spiritual cleansing" to 
accomplish. 

"What a strange war ! 

Formerly, there were battles; between the battles 
the soldiers marched and rested. Now there are no 
longer either battles or truces; there is only war 
without a minute's rest, without an inch of ground 
unoccupied. Progress demands that. There is no 
longer either strategy, or combination, or skill, or in- 
telligence, but only endurance, tenacity, patience and 
obstinacy. 

I cannot make up my mind as to which of the two 
forms of war is the harder. War nowadays, in spite 
of, or even because of the negative importance of the 
individual combatant, possesses perhaps more merit 
than the older form. 

That reminds me of the following remark made one 
day by a gavroche ^ of my company : * * Do you think, 
touchy Achille, that if Napoleon's soldiers and all 
those famous chaps had had to face shells like these 
they would have skedaddled immediately?" What 
have the light-footed Achille and the grenadier of 
Austerlitz got to say about that ? 

Juhf4:. 

We returned yesterday evening to the same 
trench, on the lower slopes of the Braun-Kopf, imme- 
diately above the valley of the Fecht, at the point 
where the river, leaving Metzeral, flows towards Mul- 
1 Parisian street arab. 



256 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

bach and Munster. The weather is fine and very hot ; 
even at this time of the year the Vosges offer great 
variations in temperature. 

What a delightful country this upper Alsace must 
be when living in gaiety and peace! "What ex- 
quisite little villages amidst these clumps of walnut 
trees or of ash, in the hollow of cool and flowery 
dales ! 

And these old granite-hearted mountains, worn by 
the centuries, how sweetly they enframe these lovely 
valleys between their broad round brows, sometimes 
capped by majestic fir plantations, sometimes simply 
clothed with their huge meadows, on which are scat- 
tered grey or red splashes — cottages with brick roofs ! 
In the woods curious footpaths, which appear to lead 
nowhere, wind indefinitely among the innumerable 
colonnades, whilst here and there, around a spring 
or a rustic watering-place, a clearing appears, enclosed 
by little low dry stone walls, all festooned with lichens. 
Everywhere — in the forest, in the stubble-fields, be- 
tween the rocks on the mountain crests, or in the 
folds of the valleys — there is a display of verdure, 
a profusion of flowers which, knowing that summer 
will be short, hasten to grow. Immense fields are 
carpeted by thick-set ferns; and amidst all this still 
tender verdure the tall clusters of pink foxglove sway 
incessantly in the breeze. Yes, it is a pretty country ; 
very different, doubtless, from our Alps, but stamped 
with a calm, somewhat sad and vaguely Virgilian 
sublimity. Notwithstanding this acknowledgment, I 
do not believe that I shall ever experience later, if 
I return from the war, the desire to see again all 
these landscapes, which recall so much blood and 



METZERAL 257 

mourning. In the future these stately Vosges will 
appear enveloped in that dignity, that funereal and 
pensive majesty which tombs possess. Those who then 
take the road to their battle-fields will come here, 
no longer as heedless tourists, but as pious pilgrims. 

There are vague rumours that the 11th is to be 
relieved, that the battalion will shortly go to Gerard- 
mer, or the suburbs, for a rest. Would this be an 
opportunity for us to see each other again? I have 
very often thought of it and asked myself if it were 
possible and if it could be arranged? 

July 5. 

It has been decided. "We are relieved this evening 
and leave for Gerardmer, where we arrive sometime 
to-morrow morning. We shall remain there, I 
believe, a few days. 

All is well ... we shall be able to wash ourselves, 
change our clothes, sleep in a bed! It will soon be 
five months since we did that! 

But what a piece of good luck if I could embrace 
you! 



THE LINGEKOPF 



Chapter VIII 
THE LINGEKOPF 

G^RAEDMEB, 
July 8. 

Yes! Gerardmer! After almost five months' ab- 
sence, the 11th Battalion, with the buglers in front, 
re-entered, on the morning of the day before yester- 
day, the hospitable little town which had welcomed it 
in February, on its return from the plains of Flanders 
and the mud of Artois. 

On February 19, after a month's stay, we left 
for Alsace, where the 11th Battalion arrived in the 
nick of time to fight. The early days in the snow, 
in the midst of those woods without shelters, and 
with the struggle to maintain, were far from delight- 
ful. Then, quietness having returned on that bit of 
the front, we spent weeks and months in that valley, 
(first of all buried in snow, then little by little 
more smiling), in digging trenches, building shelters, 
and stretching barbed wire. Afterwards came 
the attacks on Metzeral, where the battalion shed 
a little more of its blood. Suddenly, when we 
were hardly thinking any more of rest, we were 
informed that we were to come to Gerardmer. And 
here we are. 

261 



262 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

It was on the night of July 5 that the 23rd Bat- 
talion came to relieve us on the lower slopes of the 
Braun-Kopf . As soon as they were relieved, the com- 
panies, one by one, ascended first of all to Garchoney 
and then to the Honeck, over the top of which we 
passed at daybreak, in time to avoid the malevolence 
of the marmites which fell there. 

At Collet, on the French side of the Schlucht, we 
found a number of motor-lorries which took us down 
to Gerardmer in a few minutes. The motors put us 
down at the Avenue du Lac at 5.30 a.m., on July 6, 
and we then marched in step to the Kleber barracks, 
making our boots ring on the causeway of the deserted 
streets, the windows of which were half-opened as we 
passed. 

Yesterday afternoon we received a visit from 
General de Maud'huy who commands the army. He 
distributed several medals and croix de guerre. To 
my great surprise I received from him a croix de 
guerre, with the palm-branch, for a mention in army 
orders of which I had been told, but which I hardly 
expected. I merely thought that this would give you 
pleasure. The gallant general himself ordered the 
battalion to present arms; and on decorating us, 
he kissed us all. He is one of the finest figures 
among the chiefs who do honour to the French 
armies. You have only to see him to be conscious 
of the race, — ^his uprightness, bravery, and kindness of 
heart. We ought to have had many Frenchmen of 
that type. 



THE LINGEKOPF 263 



July 10. 

This morning, about six o'clock, a Tauhe flew across 
our sky and dropped a bomb, which failed to burst. 
It made off without persisting. 

Apart from that, the days have been quiet. We 
forget that we are at war, in spite of uniforms, con- 
voys, ammunition wagons and big guns which, one 
by one, are taken towards the Schlucht, dragged by 
powerful motor-tractors. 

Gerardmer, 
July 11. 

I have just received your letter on coming from 
mass. God's will be done! Both Jean and Joseph 
are now safe from dangers and the only real miseries ; 
they have entered into that felicity which is so perfect 
that we cannot imagine it. The happiness and se- 
curity they will henceforth enjoy largely compensates 
for all our sadness. But we must not give way to 
sadness: they have come to the end of all their suf- 
ferings. May God have pity upon you and assist you 
to bear this fresh loss, to accept it like that of Jean, 
like all separations in this world which are not final. 
It is but a question of years. . . . 

Now, you must not be anxious about me. Try 
to live whilst accepting unflinchingly the idea that 
we shall not perhaps see each other again in this 
life. By that means, if I return from the war, our 
joy will only be the greater. But God knows what 
He is asking of you and why. Let us continue to 
pray to Him with greater faith and confidence — to 



264 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

ask Him, not for what we desire, but for wliat He 
desires for us. 

Courage! Let us carry out our daily duty still 
better. That is the best and surest refuge whilst 
awaiting the other. 

July 12. 

. . . How sad the house will be now, and how 
emptier it will seem, although Joseph long since left 
it! He will never enter it again. But that house 
is not your real home. Our real home is the one 
awaiting us all, our 'dear absent ones — he, Jean, 
Emile and Jacques. He is privileged like all have 
been, since they have directly attained the goal 
towards which our life is a constant effort. They 
are relieved of every ill; they are sheltered from 
every danger; they have definitely escaped from 
suffering. 

The new world of the other life into which Joseph 
has just entered we are unable to imagine, because 
incapable of conceiving perfect happiness. We 
can only believe in it, without understanding. Not- 
withstanding our faith, we suffer at being sepa- 
rated; but that proves nothing, except that suffering 
in the condition of our life in this world. But 
sorrow uplifts us to resignation and confidence, 
and the heavier the sacrifice the more reason we 
find for hoping and submitting. It seems to me 
that between sorrow and consolation there is, as it 
were, a balance: the more acutely we suffer, the 
more perfect consolation will be and the greater our 
peace. 



THE LINGEKOPF 265 

May these trials teaeh us not to moan, not to desire, 
and to ask for nothing except what God chooses 
for us. 

At the Haeslen Camp, 
July 6. 

"Whilst I am watching through the motionless 
branches of the pines the white clouds which are 
scudding across the sky, you are perhaps wending 
your way across the little Pass of Anozel and 
Jean's tomb. I trust that this fairly fine day 
will have permitted you to accomplish that pil- 
grimage. Thus, your journey will have enabled 
you to pay two visits and to tighten still further the 
bonds which, in spite of separations, unite us. It 
is but a little time — a few months or a few years — 
which separates us from you, Jean and Joseph and 
myself; only, we make a great difference between 
those whose souls, being disembodied, no longer 
possess form, and the others who still speak to the 
eyes. 

Yesterday evening, on leaving you at Gerardmer 
railway station, I returned to the hotel to get my 
things together, and at about 8.30 a motor-car came 
to take me towards the Schlucht. 

Along that magnificent road, on which we were 
continually meeting the heavy motor-lorries of the 
commissariat, returning empty, we sped to the 
humming music of the motor between superb pines, 
gradually mingling with the darkness. The white 
highway stretched out before us, twisting and 
ascending in the gathering obscurity. Meanwhile, 
with my face lashed by the cold air of the moun- 



266 A CEUSAlDER OF FRANCE, 

tain and the night, I retained a vision of your de- 
parting train, moving first of all slowly, then more 
quickly, and finally disappearing towards the nar- 
row gorge of the Vologne. I was not sad — nor am 
I sad to-day; only that recollection, still so close and 
which receded at each bound of the car, enveloped 
and saturated me. Since I left you, I preserve 
through having seen you a little more tranquillity, 
a little more tenderness and peace of mind. I seem 
now to be moving more peaceably towards my 
destiny, whatever it may be. Little matter to me 
what people say or do, or what happens! I know, 
I feel every minute that you are at the same mo- 
ment somewhere on this earth, that you love me, 
that I love you, and that that is stronger than all the 
rest. 

How good God is to have permitted that meeting 
of a few days! What happens henceforth will not 
count for much by the side of those three days, the 
happiest I have experienced since the beginning 
of the war. How keenly one feels that nothing 
can ever destroy the bonds which unite several 
beings, to form them into a family! Death? But 
that, in trying them, strengthens them all the more. 
These bonds are part of ourselves — ^not of our bodies, 
which perish and are survived by them, but of our 
souls which they cause to participate eternally in a 
selfsame life. 

"We are, then, at Haeslen Camp, and, naturally, 
among the pines. I write to you on my return from 
a reconnaissance all we officers of the battalion have 
made in the sector where we are shortly to be in 
action, above . . . quite near a sector we occupied 



THE LINGEKOPF 267 

for several months before going towards Metzeral. 
Attacks are to begin soon. Meanwhile, two companies 
go every night to work at the ''parallels" — ^very ad- 
vanced trenches, as near as possible to the German 
lines, and whence the attacking troops debouch at 
the chosen hour. 

Haeslen Camp, 
July 18. 

A few words before going to sleep in my little 
wooden hut, on a comfortable truss of straw. We 
have spent the night digging and working at the 
famous ''parallel" from which, one of these days, 
we shall spring to attack the Boche trenches. We 
remain ready to start at any moment of the day or 
night. In the meanwhile, we are resting, accumu- 
lating our strength for the effort we are shortly to 
make. 

This little camp, crowded among the pines at the 
edge of a splendid white road and alongside a modest 
stream which supplies us with sufficient water for our 
toilet and cooking, is a veritable improvised Carthu- 
sian monastery. The huts are summary, but sufficient 
to protect us from rain, if not from shells, which, 
however, have not paid us a visit since we have been 
here. 

July 20. 

Still waiting, ready to move forward from the little 
wood where we watch the hours pass, the aeroplanes 
fly by and the marmites fall. 



268 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

I am fully disposed to do the Bodies as much 
damage as possible. 

July 21. 

To-day the music is deafening; there is a full 
orchestra. Ever since 7 a.m. there has been an ar- 
tillery tornado, a formidable thundering of the guns 
from one end of the valley to the other, whilst the sun 
shone from the purest of skies and the oak leaves 
in the little wood we inhabit trembled in the light 
breeze. 

"We ascended yesterday from Sulzern, bringing with 
us pickets and barbed wire, grenades and bombs, gas- 
masks and f anions (the last named to enable our gun- 
ners to calculate their range of ulterior objectives) ; 
and, thus equipped from head to foot, we are wait- 
ing, crouched in the hollow of a trench, so as not to 
attract the attention of the Boches, who are not 
far off. 

It is true that they must be in a somewhat bad 
position for seeing what is happening, with the .120 's 
and .155 's peppering their trenches and projecting 
huge masses of stones, earth, pieces of wood and 
entire tree-trunks into the air. But the bombardment 
is above all impressive up there, on the Reichaker- 
kopf, where clouds of all colours, ascending and at 
the same time spreading out between the branchless 
pines, are so close together that they mingle, envelop- 
ing the whole mountain, submerging it in a sea of 
dense smoke, slow to disperse. And fresh shells rain 
incessantly on that grey sheet, which thickens on one 
side as the wind drives it elsewhere. White plumes 



THE LINGEKOPF 269 

of the .65 's, tall black columns and showers of earth 
of the .120 's and .155 's, enormous clouds of the 
.220 's like volcanic eruptions, an infernal avalanche 
of shot and shell, a diabolical cyclone bringing death 
and destruction — such is that fantastic spectacle, the 
vision of a person under hallucination or one who is 
insane. 

But it is indeed reality : the warfare of to-day, the 
struggle of two great nations such as civilization and 
progress wish and permit. 

Towards noon, after a final concentration of explo- 
sives, a sudden silence! More than one barrage of 
small shrapnel bursting high, punctuating the sky, still 
darkened by smoke rising from the ground, with light 
white cottony spots. It was the appointed time for 
the attack. A soul-stirring moment! 

After the deafening din of the bombardment, that 
sudden silence signified that man was to enter on the 
scene. Blind and brutal matter could do no more than 
prepare the way. Something additional was now 
necessary — that trifle which is everything in war, and 
especially in this war: a soul behind a body. How- 
ever fragile this body may be when faced by engines 
which kill, however weak this soul, infinite in space 
and time, may be, they are the veritable and decisive 
forces. What a paradox ! 

At that moment you are the prey to an obsessing 
thought: that of the lives which are mown down like 
corn. Especially when you hear, first of all indis- 
tinctly, then clearly and in quick succession, the crack- 
ing of the enemy's rifles and the dreadful pop! pop! 
pop ! of the machine-guns, implacable and sinister as 
a clock. 



270 A CUXJSADER OF FRANCE 

So there are still men on the watch behind their 
fire-bays, marksmen still alive at their guns? 
There are still Boches waiting to resist us after 
such a hellish fire as that? . . . How, then, are 
they constructed, what are their nerves made of, and 
what sort of dugouts must they be which protect 
them? 

However that may be, at the moment when, behind 
the last shells, the attacking companies debouched 
from the outskirts of the Sattel to advance on the 
Reichakerkopf, rifles and machine-guns began to 
speak; and although, placed where I am in this little 
wood, clinging to the side of a dale, it is difficult to 
form a very clear idea of what is happening up there, 
I fear that the struggle has been hard and that they 
have not greatly advanced. . . . 

Our turn will come afterwards — ^later — ^when I 
know not. It matters little to me: we are ready. 
We know where we are to go and it is simple : it will 
suffice to get there as quickly as possible and stick 
there. 

That will take but a few minutes: the time to 
cross the two or three hundred metres which sepa- 
rate us from our objective. Attacks now impress us 
much less than they did at the beginning. True 
they cost dear; but, apart from that, why regard 
those moments as different from any other moments 
in life? By the grace of God, eh? Here or else- 
where, to-day or to-morrow, or later, we are sure 
to die. The essential thing is to die nobly, and 
until then to live nobly. Thank you for praying 
for me. 



THE LINGEKOPF 271 

To a friendly family. 

A letter written after tJie death of Ms irother 

Joseph. 

July 24, 1915. 

You know, doubtless, the principal and sad piece 
of news that I am able to send you: God, for the 
second time, has demanded from my father and 
mother the greatest sacrifice that parents can make. 
This is the second of my brothers (called to the 
colours many months after myself) whom I shall never 
see again. 

He fell on July 2 in that wild Argonne where the 
woods are more treacherous than elsewhere, the 
struggles more desperate, the weapons more murder- 
ous . . . the victims more numerous. 

God's will be done ! 

My brother wished to become a priest — desired 
nothing more than to live a life of devotion and sacri- 
fice. God demanded the greatest sacrifice from him 
. . . and yet the easiest, because life held in store for 
him many trials and vexations which he will thus be 
spared. He is now happy — ^happier than he would 
ever have been in this world, which would have made 
him suffer more than others, because of his generous 
soul and pure heart. Inevitable contact with medi- 
ocrity and ugliness would have wounded him deeply, 
have aroused him indignation, even have disgusted 
him, but would never have repelled him, for he pos- 
sessed the strength and the goodness of those who are 
gentle and humble. 

It is left to others to scatter the good seed which 



272 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

he Avill sow no more. The merit of his death, ac- 
cepted beforehand almost joyfully, will devolve upon 
others and be a precious aid to them. As far as he 
is concerned, the light towards which his soul ascended 
of its own accord envelops it and he will nevermore 
know the darkness he dreaded. He is perfectly, abso- 
lutely, eternally happy. 

Now, come what may! 

Our sector is still very perturbed, and we still await 
many events. So much the better! We must work 
incessantly; we must be able to say every evening: 
"I have gained a victory." For there are always 
victories to be gained, over others, and above all over 
oneself. 



July 22. 

My dear mamma. Amidst the uncertainty and ex- 
pectation, the orders and counter-orders of the last 
few days I let your birthday go by without writing to 
you. You well know what I can say to you, what I 
wish you, not only to-day, but every day. These 
anniversaries are above all occasions for remembering 
each other and for hoping. 

What I wish you, neither I, alas! nor any one can 
give you: it can come to you only from God. But 
we can all pray to Him, and I well know that in 
heaven, Emile, Jacques, Jean and Joseph continually 
pray to Him for you. What I wish you is peace, not 
that which men ask for as an end to this horrible war, 
but the peace which depends neither on our struggles, 
nor on our treaties, nor on our conventions, the peace 



THE LINGEKOPF 273 

that no worldly event can disturb, because it comes 
not from this world. 

Here we are still in a state of expectation. The 
guns thunder incessantly on one side or the other; 
shrapnel and bombs burst almost over our heads at 
this very moment. But however numerous and black 
they may be, shells will never succeed in completely 
effacing the blue of the heavens. Let us fix our gaze 
on that azure. 



July 25. 

The communiques which reached us yesterday even- 
ing reported fairly comforting successes on our side; 
but I fear they have not been maintained. Contrary 
to the Metzeral attacks, in which we found no great 
number of men before us, the Boches are showing here 
a stubborn resistance, and they certainly possess large 
reinforcements. Their immediate and repeated 
counter-attacks prove it. It is said that an army corps 
is concentrated in the district of Colmar. That is not 
likely to contribute to the easy accomplishment of our 
task. 

"We have entered on a period of necessary activity, 
for important results must be obtained before winter. 
There will certainly still be some hot encounters in 
these parts. Personally I shall not be sorry for that. 
I realize the value of action more than ever, and what 
a blessing it is for us who, generally, take badly to 
idleness. Physically and morally it is better to do no 
matter what than nothing. 



274 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

July 29. 

This time we shall not have to wait long. 

"We have been holding ourselves in readiness, with 

piled arms, in the woods of the Pass of W since 

this morning. Four companies are already in the 
communication trenches. Two others, including my 
own, await orders here. The artillery has just begun 
its preliminary bombardment and the din is infernal. 
On all sides the .75 's roar like raging lions; their 
detonations ring out and echo among the pines, which 
vibrate like metal stems. You can form no idea 
of this music. We cannot even hear the passing, 
very high in the sky or among the clouds, of the 
huge shells of the "heavies," which, slowly, continue 
their overwhelming fire above the tornadoes of the 
.75 's. Something fresh will happen between now 
and this evening. I trust that the 11th Battalion 
will bear itself worthily. I entrust myself to the care 
of God, of my brothers whom I feel are very close 
to me — ^with me — amidst this storm. By the grace 
of God! 

July 30. 

I write to you from the bottom of a trench where 
we have been since yesterday evening; and in the 
little nook where I have fixed myself up as well as 
possible it rains gravel or stone alternately. What 
a quantity of this ruddy, sandy earth of the Vosges, 
which seems to be but the dust of their old worn rocks, 
we shall have picked up ! 

Yesterday will stand out in the record of our 
battalion, already so rich in adventures; but unfor- 



THE LINGEKOPF 275 

tunately it will be recorded as one of the most 
sanguinary and saddest of days. 

I hastily scribbled to you yesterday that my 
company awaited instructions to move. A few 
minutes later two companies of the 11th Battalion 
left their parallel trench and dashed forward 
to attack the outskirts of the Barrenkopf, followed 
a little later first by one and then by two other 
companies. 

The struggle was fierce — nay, exceptionally fierce. 
The Boches, whom we have been punishing here for 
the past week, have brought up their finest troops 
(soldiers of the Guard, if you please!) to stop us, and 
huge quantities of ammunition. Consequently, yester- 
day's attack, which did not take them by surprise, was 
received by an intense barrage and terrible rifle and 
machine-gun fire. 

The losses were heavy. Captain de Peyrelongue, 
in command of the 1st Company, was killed on the 
spot on leaving the trench. Several other officers 
were also killed and others wounded. Throughout 
the night the trenches communicating with the 
rear were filled with a lamentable stream of wounded 
men, some of them walking alone, with bandaged 
heads and arms in slings; others dragging their legs 
along, assisted by comrades; whilst the more seri- 
ously wounded, sometimes moaning in a hollow voice, 
sometimes motionless and silent, like the dead, were 
carried on stretchers. This morning, several of them 
who could not be removed in the night are still 
there. 

At nightfall I received an order to go and support 
the advanced line, ready to reinforce or relieve it. 



276 A CEUSADER OF FEANCE 

Under a formidable artillery fire, which only stopped 
at night, we came here through devastated communi- 
cation trenches, obstructed by splintered pine trees 
and blocks of shattered rock. Amidst that tornado of 
fire the whole company passed without having more 
than four men wounded. And here we are, squatting 
in our trenches, awaiting events. 

On these fronts, bristling with barbed wire and 
fortresses, defended by weapons more and more over- 
whelming, one feels more strongly than ever that one 
must place oneself in the hands of God. 

Yet one cannot say, in spite of this strength of 
material organization and armament, in spite of the 
enormous extent of this year-old battle — one can- 
not say, it seems to me, that individual worth is 
vain. In a certain sense more of it perhaps is 
needed in this war than was the case in any other. 
First of all, it is necessary to set aside absolutely 
all private interests and to sacrifice ourselves 
entirely for the success of the whole. Moreover, 
each individual has not his own task, set in advance, 
his fields of action where he will go according to 
his worth and gain more or less glory. It may 
happen here that the bravest is killed on making 
his first step outside the trench; and that the 
least courageous, chancing to escape the dangers 
of the battle-field, alone reaps the reward. A 
trooper's duty in this huge industrial war is a 
thousand times more thankless than was that of a 
Boldier of Xenophon, or of Cgesar, or of Turenne; 
it is more disinterested, far fuller of great risks, and 
therefore more meritorious. Therein, it seems to me, 
lies the true glory of the poilu of 1914. Sacrifice 



THE LINGEKOPF 277 

bestows it upon him. It is the same spirit, but in- 
spired by a different faith, as that which animated the 
martyrs. 

Indeed I often feel a profound admiration for 
my men, in considering their merit in leading, with- 
out a word of complaint, far from their homes and 
families, this humble, obscure, almost impersonal 
existence, in consenting, without a protest and even 
good-humouredly, to be the real instruments of 
victory, whilst remaining in the background and in 
oblivion. 

And what about those who fall — almost always 
without any other witness than a companion or a 
case-hardened, almost indifferent comrade — those 
whose bodies, neglected in the midst of the 
tornado, have been there, in front of the trench, 
for several days, and whom nobody troubles to 
bury, to venerate in any special manner, because 
the spectacle is commonplace and it would be im- 
possible to say which one was the worthiest of dis- 
tinction? What about all these young men who 
have thrown themselves into the arms of death with 
a light heart and a smiling face? What about 
the " '15 class" — the Jeans and the Josephs? 
Who realizes the extent of their sacrifice? Here, 
probably nobody, but their parents, their distant 
friends who do not care to display their sorrowful 
pride; and certainly God, in whose eyes the un- 
known death of the humblest piou piou is greater than 
that of the leader whom all honour and glorify. 
What puny, blind, ignorant, stupid creatures we 
are! 



278 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 



In the woods of M- 
August 1. 



So almost the first year of war is completed! It 
will be a year to-morrow since the day I left you, on 
that hot and dusty Sunday — that tragic and anxious 
Sunday of the mobilization. 

Once more I can see that arrival at Grenoble, at 
night, after an interminable journey; that rising 
of the moon in a tranquil sky, whilst the motor- 
car spun along the Voreppe road, by the side of 
flooded fields. Then that Sunday morning, the 
farewell mass at Saint-Hugues, with you — ^that 
contemplative fervent mass. I can still hear, sung 
by men's voices, that hymn which was so appro- 
priate at such an hour: ''Dieu de clemence, Dieu 
protecteur, sauvez la France, au nom du Sacre- 
CcEur." 

And I think of all that followed, of the various 
stages of this year of interminable warfare, in all 
weather and under all climates. 

But when I read the present — that present which 
finds us still at war — I ask myself whether I have 
really witnessed all that and whether, to-day, I have 
passed through so many adventures without anything 
essential appearing to me different in the world or in 
myself. 

That is to say that everything which changes varies 
insensibly, without jerks, and for that reason every- 
thing appears to us indefinitely the same; for I do 
not believe that the war has changed nothing. 
On the contrary it has effected everything and every- 
body. Even those who appear to have passed 



THE LINGEKOPF 279 

through such events without receiving an impression 
are perhaps, whether they show it and admit it or 
not, the most changed by events. All this will be 
more evident afterwards, when everything has been 
restored to order again ; for then the disorder will be 
visible to all. The most serious and principal result 
of this war will be above all what comes after it; 
and I imagaine what we are seeing, or will yet 
see until the last cannon shot, is not the most ex- 
traordinary part of the cataclysm in which the world 
is involved. But these are very vague and premature 
ideas, without any other basis than that imaginary 
vision which, for each of us, puts the future into a 
more or less concrete form. 

"We are in reserve, a little behind the lines, after a 
few days which will count for the 11th Battalion. 

I have already told you, I believe, that the bat- 
talion, brought forward in haste, has just attacked 
the Barrenkopf. It made the attack, in fact, on 
the afternoon of July 29, two companies at the 
appointed hour leaving their "parallels" to dash 
on the wood. Two others were to follow them 
closely, in echelons, in two successive waves. Sad 
and magnificent attack ! Never perhaps — ^not even at 
Carency — has the 11th Battalion presented a finer 
spectacle: two companies proceeding to the attack 
in line as at manoeuvres and coolly marching on 
that wood full of ambuscades across ground torn 
and ploughed up by shells and covered with the 
victims of preceding attacks. Very few reached 
the wood where soldiers of the Prussian Guard, 
standing in a trench that no shell had reached, 
with their rifles to their shoulders, picked off our 



280 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

unfortunate infantry one by one. How many fell in 
that way, with a bullet through their head or 
heart, when covering the bare two hundred metres 
which separated them from the edge of the wood! 
And what must their thoughts have been, on draw- 
ing near to those fatal outskirts, when they beheld 
the Germans, shoulder to shoulder, waiting for 
them behind an inextricable entanglement of chevaux 
de frise, barbed wire, and abatis? Poor gallant 
fellows ! 

Machine-guns, concealed in the Schratzmaennele 
quarries, on our left, enfiladed our line at the same 
time. When the last line was about to debouch, its 
leader, Captain de Peyrelongue, was shot through the 
heart, just as he was uttering the order : ' ' Forward ! ' ' 
Nevertheless, a platoon of this company reached the 
edge of the wood, singing the Sidi-Brahim, but the 
majority fell on the way. 

AH those who arrived at the border of the wood, 
but a few metres from the Germans, who continued 
firing, took shelter in shell-holes, where they re- 
mained until the next evening, incessantly exchang- 
ing bullets, hand-grenades and bombs with the 
enemy. The officer — a marvellous soldier — who com- 
manded this group, and who will shortly obtain 
the cross, which he has so long merited, having re- 
ceived orders to remain at his position, stuck there, 
notwithstanding his terrible (and, moreover, useless) 
predicament. Still many more of his men were killed. 
"When the Boches called out to them, in bad French : 
''Surrender! Come along!" the lieutenant, him- 
self setting the example, had the Marseillaise 
sung. 



THE LINGEKOPF 281 

The two eompanies, when, on the following even- 
ing, they finally received the order to fall back, were 
found to have each lost more than . . . men. Both 
are to be mentioned in army orders. 

There now you see how the honour of the ieret^ is 
upheld. 

But these engagements of the Linge and Barren- 
kopf were very severe, and resulted in extremely heavy 
losses to us. 

I was almost forgetting to tell you that on the even- 
ing of the day before yesterday I received a small 
shell-splinter in the left arm. It is hardly a wound, 
and I shall be annoyed if I am obliged to leave my 
company on account of such a trifle. 

I went yesterday to the Alpine Ambulance at the 

Pass of W , where, in a wooden shed, a veritable 

operating-room for big and urgent surgical eases has 
been installed. There they put me to sleep and 
made two exploratory incisions, which enabled them 
to find a tiny piece of cloth from my tunic, but 
unfortunately no shell-splinter, which has pene- 
trated fairly deeply between the muscles. If there 
is nothing else to be done I shall go to Gerardmer 
to be radiographed and operated upon. There hap- 
pens to be there a Lyons surgeon, named Laroyenne, 
who will easily rid me of this ridiculous little bit of 
metal. 

Gerardmer, 
August 5. 

I write you from Gerardmer, to which I descended 

1 The cap, like a tam-o'-shanter, worn by the mountain 
artillery. — Translator 's note. 



282 A CRUSADER OF PRANCE 

yesterday evening to have done with this wretched 
little shell-splinter. They radiographed me on my 
arrival and will this afternoon, I believe, extract the 
offending body. Once rid of this troublesome guest, 
I shall soon, I hope, be able to rejoin my company, 
which I was reluctant to leave for so small a matter. 

It is said that there was another fairly hot en- 
gagement last night. The hospitals here are full of 
wounded. 



August 6. 

As I informed you this morning by telegram, I am 
progressing satisfactorily. The recalcitrant shell- 
splinter was extracted yesterday evening, and there is 
now but a small wound to heal. 

I am thinking of rejoining the battalion as soon as 
possible, and shall be welcomed there, for it is ru- 
moured here that it has been in vigorous action for the 
past two days at the Lingekopf, with heavy losses. A 
captain has been killed and several officers wounded. 
I deeply regret having been away from my men dur- 
ing these days of fighting. This Lingekopf is the 
mountain infantry's Moloch! 

August 7. 

I am really ashamed to have to remain here, resting 
and protected, whilst my brave men are suffering 
and enduring hard trials. I have just seen off at 
the railway station a lieutenant of my company, 
who, wounded in the thigh, has left for the rear. He 
told me that the battalion has undergone formidable 



THE LINGEKOPF 283 

bombardments. Two auxiliary doctors, both wounded, 
also said that the Lingekopf was a hell upon earth. 
Poor 11th Battalion! — in what condition will you 
come out of that ordeal? All the battalions which 
have come in action there since July 20 (already six- 
teen have fought there) have been terribly knocked 
about. 

The doctor who operated on me the day before yes- 
terday and dressed my wound this morning will not 
permit me to leave yet. But I hope to have finished 
with this business soon. My arm is going on very well 
and gives me little pain, 

August 9. 

Still in a state of convalescence amidst the quietness 
of this little district, which, despite all its bustle, 
appears to me very peaceable when I think of what 
is happening up there. 

This morning, at the hospital, where I spend a part 
of my time with wounded comrades, I saw for the 
first time in my life the flag of the mountain 
infantry which General de Pouydraguin is showing 
to every wounded chasseur. It is a fine piece of 
stuff, covered with stains and in faded colours. 
The brightest colours are those of the Legion of Hon- 
our and military medal, which are hanging from its 
staff. At the present time this flag is passing from 
one battalion to another. Each battalion has it in 
turn for four days. It will soon be the turn of 
the 11th Battalion. It is an excellent idea to bring 
it out in this way and to show it to the infantry, 
so few of whom have seen it up to now. Before men 



284 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

who fight you must set up an image. Many of 
them are simple-minded and limited in intelligence, 
and to these such words as Country, the Ideal 
and even Duty are but abstractions. It is a good 
thing to materialize them by means of colours and 
form. Speak to them of their parish or their paternal 
roof when it is a question of country, and of the 
flag when you would symbolize honour and military 
duty. As regards the rest, you need not seek to in- 
culcate a belief in an ideal, which neither their turn 
of mind nor their education allow them even to 
conceive. I am a strong believer in an ideal which 
I have often heard expressed: that men, most of 
their time, fight for their leader; they will expose 
and sacrifice themselves according to the amount 
of esteem they have for those who command them. If 
this is so, what a burden is on the shoulders of those 
who lead! 

August 13. 

Once more I am back with the gallant poilus of 
the 11th Battalion, and for the past twenty-four 
hours have been with them in the woods, or at 
any rate in something which was a wood, but which 
is now no more than chaos. Here nature is dis- 
figured by war. There is not a tree-trunk which 
does not bear the trace of shot or shell; the bark 
of the pines bears gashes either slight or deep; 
other trees are amputated half way up, or cut off 
close to the ground. The largest have sometimes 
been broken o&. by shells as though they had been 
mere sticks. Shattered branches lie everywhere on 



THE LINGEKOPF 285 

the ground or in shell craters. The number of 
French or Boches' shells that this wretched little 
peak has received during the past month is un- 
imaginable. 

It is near the summit of this famous Lingekopf, 
where we are, that the 11th Battalion has been 
since August 5, in close contact with the Boches, who, 
after having been driven from it have returned 
to the charge, without much success however. The 
crest itself is occupied neither by them nor by us. 
The rival trenches are face to face at a short dis- 
tance on the rounded brow which forms the summit. 
Between these two lines the ground has become a 
charnel-house. The bodies of infantrymen who have 
fallen in the course of successive attacks and the 
bodies of Germans killed by our guns in recent 
counter-attacks lie stretched in all positions amidst 
twisted barbed wire and felled pine trees. At certain 
times the air is tainted with an abominable smell. My 
company is at the extremity of this crest on a steep 
and rocky slope, which dips down rapidly. There a 
sort of wall has been built — a rampart of stones and 
bags of earth. Loop-holes have been made in it, and 
we have succeeded in stretching a few strands of 
barbed wire in front. Behind this wall the infantry 
hold themselves ready day and night to receive and 
repulse attacks which the Germans may attempt 
against us. 

This situation is interesting; it is, from every 
point of view, more agreeable than that of the 
second and third lines, first of all because one can 
see what is in front of one, and also because we 
almost completely escape bombardment, which cannot 



286 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

reach us on the descent and so near the German 
trenches. 

On the other hand, we are within range of aerial 
torpedoes and bomhs. I must confess that the 
effect they produce in no way resembles the tran- 
quillity of the evenings on the shores of the lake of 
Gerardmer. Yesterday evening the concert began 
about 8.30 and lasted hardly half an hour, but dur- 
ing that time it was infernal: an incessant shower 
of bombs and hand-grenades, the smoke of which 
obscured the air by lingering near the ground. In 
this opaque atmosphere, similar to a dense fog, the 
detonations followed rapidly upon each other, each 
explosion shedding a dull gleam within the cloud. 
And through this curtain came the cracking of 
fusillades, the smacking of buUets flattening on stones, 
the screeching of rebounding projectiles, and at times 
the whistling of volleys of .65 shells, which 
passed above our heads before bursting on the German 
block-houses. But the noise is not everything. To 
make the fantastic side of the evening complete star- 
shells went up from all points of the line, rose 
heavenwards in all directions, describing above the 
tops of the pines criss-cross curves, and descending 
in the wood in dazzling globes. By their light the 
wood was illumined almost continuously by an 
unearthly lactescent fantastic light. What a fairy- 
like scene ! 

I had never witnessed such a spectacle, in which 
everything — sight, hearing, smell, imagination — 
was dazzled, stunned, and yet almost exalted. 
However, very little damage — only two wounded 
in my company; very little for such a row. The 



THE LINGEKOPF 287 

men, moreover, quickly recovered possession of 
themselves amidst this saraband. You should 
have seen them, under the light of the star-shells, 
gliding like foxes towards the loopholes, with 
fixed bayonets and grenades hooked on to their 
belts, to reply to the Boehes pluckily. Gallant 
fellows ! 



August 14. 

It is in these ravaged Avoods that, to-morrow, we 
are to celebrate the festival of August 15. No- 
body, I believe, will be tempted to give way to 
excesses, and yet everybody will be cheerful, in good 
humour, and will live with joyous heart that day 
face to face with the Boehes, who are there, quite 
close, watching us from behind their fire-bays. But 
we also have got our eye on them, and if they were 
tempted to leave their holes they would get a 
nice reception ! This evening we shall have, as usual, 
a serenade with bombs and hand-grenades — a rather 
wild sort of music, but not lacking in picturesque- 
ness. Indeed, we are spending unforgettable hours 
here. 

My arm continues to heal up and will be all right 
in a very few days. 

August 15. 

Here is an August 15 festival which hardly re- 
sembles that of preceding years! On the same day 
last year the war had started, but no one thought that 
a year later the guns would still be thundering. And 



288 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

yet the struggle continues, more violent and tenacious 
than ever. 

"Whereas last year we had still the quietude of 
our little country house in Savoy, high mass 
in the ancient church, with its gilded wooden statues, 
among a crowd of thoughtful old men and women 
in Savoyard dress, and the merry chime of the bells 
rising from the verdure of the orchards, to-day we 
are attached to the patient labor of the great 
war. To celebrate this day, there are no longer either 
bells or songs or crowds in their Sunday best. Yet 
the scene is as meditative as in the Tarentaise vil- 
lage — ^nay, even more so. Amidst the austerity of 
this desolated wood, on the hardly contested slopes 
of these Alsatian Vosges, already steeped in the 
blood of so many fights, the soul rises of its own ac- 
cord towards that infinite on which our hope is 
nurtured. 

Notwithstanding the savage roar of all these 
engines of war, crouching like wild animals watching 
for their prey in the shady places of woods — not- 
withstanding the whistling of bullets, the heartrend- 
ing aspect of these devastated mountains and 
the bitter nights — notwithstanding the cold, the 
blood, and death — ^notwithstanding everything, a 
superhuman peace reigns over this sad festival, 
and something stronger than ourselves descends 
into our souls to tell us that the worst events are 
nothing, that this life itself is only a threshold to 
be crossed, and that everything comes to it from 
elsewhere. 

This morning, in a wretched shelter of stones and 
branches, a soldier-priest said mass for us, shells 



THE LINGEKOPF 289 

shrieking the while in the grey sky. "What fervour 
and poetry and value these masses, celebrated no 
matter where, on temporary altars, by soldiers and 
for soldiers, assume ! The prayers we offer up at the 
tombs of comrades, killed the day or the night before, 
and in close proximity to that death which lies in wait 
for us every moment and may come upon us every- 
where, are unforgettable. 

We are still on those slopes of the Lingekopf which 
the mountain infantry won at the price of so many 
sacrifices, and which assume, at the thought of the 
many victims who fell there, a terrible and majestic 
grandeur, a singular melancholy. 

From here, between the numerous openings among 
the pines, we command the Pass of W , the shell- 
riddled hillocks which surround it, and the muddy 
cut-up meadows which descend from it to the basin 
of Orbey. Beyond, the horizon is hidden from view 
by the Hautes-Chaumes, a huge rounded barrier which 
hides from us the watershed of the Meurthe, 
the still French slopes of the Vosges. What in- 
numerable times their pines will have echoed the din 
of the guns ! 

I am glad to have found my gallant poilus still in 
good spirits, notwithstanding the severities of this 
ever-on-the-alert existence, notwithstanding their vir- 
min, torn or unstitched trousers, cold and earthy stews, 
diarrhoea, and the other inevitable little worries which 
go with this life of men-of-ihe-woods, led without ces- 
sation for so long a time. 

August 18. 

It is one o'clock in the afternoon. In a little 



290 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

over an hour our guns are going to open fire on 
the German trench which lies above us, on the de- 
vastated crest of the Lingekopf, the greenish earth- 
bags of which we can see from our loop-holes. At 
six o'clock the artillery will cease firing. It will 
then be our turn, and we must ascend there, amidst 
cut-down trees, twisted barbed wire, and scattered 
rocks, to capture those enemy block-houses and 
stick there. We are ready. The men have filled 
their cartridge cases, hooked their tools on to their 
belts, filled their bags with grenades. They know 
where they are going. Awaiting the hour of de- 
parture, they converse, walk hither and thither with 
that coolness and confidence we shall never admire 
too much and to which we do not, perhaps, render 
sufficient justice. 
May God watch over them and aid us! 

August 19. 

Fine weather, a radiant sky, an abundance of shells 
of all kinds, a fairly lively day. Nothing broken yet, 
in spite of the Boches. 

August 20. 

As I told you, it was the day before yesterday, 
the 18th, we played our part. I had asked for 
as thorough an artillery preparation as possible. 
The gunners responded to this wish and prepared 
the job in a masterly manner. From 3 until 
6 p.m. the Boche block-house and trench which 
crown the Lingekopf shook under the 65 's, the 



THE LINGEKOPF 291 

75 's, and the terrible shells of the Rimailho guns. 

At six o'clock, the 6th company, in line, set off to 
attack the devastated crest. With an emotion which 
you will easily imagine, I watched my courageous 
poilus, laboriously clambering over boulders and 
other obstacles, and with their bayonets glittering and 
resolute, their waists encircled by a string of bombs, 
climb to the block-house, reach the summit, without 
receiving a rifle-shot, and pass over it. Another com- 
pany followed behind, burdened with tools, gabions, 
and earth-bags to consolidate the conquered line im- 
mediately. 

It was magnificent ! 

Alas! it was too much of a good thing. Hardly 
had the Boche line been occupied, hardly had the 
workers, protected by the bomb-throwers, begun to fill 
their gabions with earth when enemy shells, with 
mathematical precision, showered on the position, an- 
nihilating in a minute a section of the 4th company, 
of which one officer was killed and another wounded. 
At the same time two mines exploded under the 
trench and the block-house, projecting into the air 
gabions, earth-sacks, weapons, bits of blue stuff, and 
. . . human limbs ! 

Ten minutes afterwards the survivors of the 
two companies returned to the line of departure. A 
multitude of pointed helmets again appeared on the 
summit. Artillery barrage, a deafening uproar, an- 
gry calls at the telephone! I received orders to 
recommence the attack. But, to avoid a fresh and 
useless slaughter, I took the responsibility of not 
trying again. I have not repented of it for one 
minute. 



292 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

And here we still are — the 11th Battalion in ruins, 
waiting with resignation to be relieved. 

Poor 11th Battalion ! I have about seventy men of 
the line left. This Lingekopf is indeed the tomb of 
the mountain-infantry. 

August 21. 

"We are still on the Lingekopf. The Boches do not 
trouble us too much. I do not know when we shall 
be relieved. Our poilus are in tatters, with gaping 
boots, and trousers in a still more alarming con- 
dition. As to washing ourselves, that is quite out 
of the question. The men have not changed their 
linen for a month; and when it is not too cold they 
amuse themselves by hunting for lice. Their moral 
remains excellent; neither filth, nor vermin, nor 
rain, nor the Boches damp their good humour. 
What a spectacle if we returned to Gerardmer in 
daylight ! Boche shells rain on our wood. We laugh 
at them. . . . 

August 22. 

Still a good deal of noise to-day. Our guns and 
theirs exchange indiscreet remarks at our expense; 
but where we are there falls hardly anything save 
shrapnel from the 77 's, and that is not very trouble- 
some. With such solid shelters as we have, it does us 
very little harm. 

Lingekopf, 
August 25. 

A piece of good news: we are to be relieved to- 



THE LINGEKOPF 293 

morrow evening; and of that no one will complain. 
The poor fellows of the 11th Battalion have indeed 
need to wash their linen after having washed this 
linen.^ But they do not complain ; they crack jokes on 
the subject of their vermin. 

A year ago this morning we arrived at Saint-Die. 
I can distinctly call to mind the station platform en- 
cumbered with lorries, packing cases, heaps of bread, 
and also forgotten luggage. In the town there was a 
continual coming and going of batteries, convoys, am- 
bulances. Everything gave an impression of sadness, 
harassment, disquietude. 

We were at the beginning of the drama. That 
dreadful thing which up to then we had conceived 
only in our minds was to become a reality ; it was there 
quite close, and it was not a dream. . . . 

In the evening we went to the outposts on the 
plateau of Dijon. The livelong day we saw march 
past us on the road which descends towards Saint- 
Die a stream of peasants, women, wounded. . . . 

Horrible recollection! 

The next day, the same sinister procession, the same 
heart-rending refrain repeated by all these fugitives, 
marching alone, one by one, lamentably. 

Hardly any officers! The majority doubtless were 
killed, or else holding out until the last gasp. 

The day after the morrow came the order to attack, 
the engagement in the woods, the never-to-be-forgotten 
and bloody baptism of fire. Never have I been able 
to live again, in thought and memory, those tragic 

lA play, in the French, on the word linge: "On besoin 
d'aller laver leur linge, apres avoir lave celui-1^," that is, the 
Lingekopf . — Translator 's note. 



294 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

hours without experiencing a keen emotion made up 
of pity, terror and bitterness. To think that war is 
like that! — ^that France has experienced such days as 
those ! 

How distant we are to-day from those sad scenes ! 

Without a doubt, those who fell by thousands on 
the many battlefields of the early days of the war 
will not come to life again. Their loss remains. But 
grief is now assuaged; our trials are softened by 
hope. Henceforth, every one knows that he must 
suffer, and has cultivated his energy to bear suffer- 
ing. The hard lesson of sacrifice will have opened 
many eyes. Who knows but that salvation would 
have come immediately if no one had not remained 
blind? 

But we accommodate ourselves to everything — even 
to trial; and we must beware of insensibly returning, 
amidst the misfortunes of this war, to the abominable 
egoism from which it rudely dragged us. Man is 
a foul beast — nay perhaps the only really dan- 
gerous animal in creation, and needs to be treated 
roughly, to receive terrible lessons. I recall a line by 
De Vigny of which we were fond when students in 
rhetoric : 

Sacrifice, toi seul es la vertu.i 

I often ask myself what merit we possess — we 
who, cheaply, are the heroes of the moment. We are 
here like others are elsewhere because an estab- 
lished order has placed us here. People suppose 
that we are usually unhappy and gratuitously admire 
us, as though what we did was superhuman. No, 

1 Sacrifice, thou alone art virtue. 



THE LINGEKOPF 295 

indeed! all men are alike and differ one from the 
other only in degree. The measure of the efforts of 
which they are capable depends above all on the means 
placed at their disposal. The only real merit one can 
possess is to accept one's lot as it comes, and to apply 
oneself, every minute, to doing as much good as 
possible. 

It is not by results that the value of action must 
be judged, in the same way that the gravity of an 
error must not be judged by either the magnitude or 
the nature of the crime. The unconscious egoist who 
condemns a ruffian is not necessarily better than he is. 
Human justice is without doubt a necessary conven- 
tion, but arbitrary like all the laws and rules men 
enact. The only tribunal is that of Conscience, and 
God alone is the judge. 

Must we, on that account, contend that we have 
a right to avoid the conditions of the society in 
which we are born, and to take up an attitude of 
proud revolt against the laws? A gross error. 
On the contrary, we must accept them like every- 
thing else which exists, whether it be the work of 
nature or that of man, because it is, in any case, 
the work of God. Only we must be aware of the 
relativeness of everything human, recognize that it 
has only value when in function with something else, 
and not see the absolute elsewhere than where it 
exists. 

But I do not know what is impelling me to dis- 
course on commonplace topics. Everything is so sim- 
ple and clear. It is really not worth while to compli- 
cate matters. 

There is talk of leave being granted. You may 



296 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

be certain that if that is possible I shall not have to be 
asked twice to go and see you. But I do not dare to 
place too much hope on it. . . . 

August 26. 

We arrived this morning at the rest-billets, after 
a night march. "What bliss to be able to wash, bathe, 
rest, and fit oneself out with new things ! 

We are expecting shortly important reinforce- 
ments to fill all the holes left by recent weeks of 
fighting. 

There is again talk of leave being granted and I am 
sending in my application. It would be a fine adven- 
ture if I were able to go and spend a few days with 
you. 

Telegram of August 28. 

I am leaving. Shall arrive to-morrow 
evening. 



AT THE CORCIEUX CAMP 



Chapter IX 

AT THE CORCIEUX CAMP 

To a friendly family 

Grenoble, 
September 4, 1915, 

What emotions and melancholy recollections the 
scenes of this marvellous district evoke! 

After those long months of absence, spent far 
from all these familiar, evocative, and peaceful 
horizons, it seems, on finding oneself again amidst 
these ever similar surroundings, as though the 
hours which elapsed over there were blotted out 
miraculously. 

It is the privilege of landscapes which formerly 
received the impress of our souls to remain for us, 
amidst storm and stress, the eternally new image of 
home. And when we return, from however far off we 
perceive it, we recognize it at the first glance. 

But how quickly they pass, these blessed days 
amidst the sweetness of the re-found home, these days 
one has desired so many times, so ardently, during 
the hours of one's nostalgic dreams! However, 
one must know how to get the benefit of them. 
Everything comes to an end . . . the war will also 

299 



300 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

come to an end . . . and the world too. Let us 
know how to cull the joys which God gives us, along 
the road. 

Gerardmer, 
September 8. 

A few hasty lines. I reached Gerardmer yesterday 
evening, after a long railway journey. 

I am leaving at once to rejoin my battalion at 

P , 20 kilometres from Gerardmer. The supply of 

willingness is now renewed for a long time. 

September 10. 

What a magnificent evening! After a superb day, 
the sun has just disappeared behind the rampart 
of the Hautes-Chaumes. Not a cloud, not a speck 
on this inimitably limpid sky. On the shores of the 
Lac Noir, rippling between the steep grey granite 
slopes, one could easily imagine oneself far from the 
war, transported to a marvellous abode — to some 
enchanted country. 

September 11. 

The weather is so fine, the air so light, the sky 
so clear, and the view of this lake so marvellous, 
that I ask myself what more I could desire to-day. 
What admirable scenery surrounds us! From the 
wooden hut where I live, I can see the water, 
between the knotty and reddish branches of the 
pines, shimmering under the great mid-day sun. 
Under this almost vertical light, the trees cast no 



AT THE CORCIEUX CAMP 301 

shadow and the pines appear to mingle into a thick 
fleece. 

You will realize that in this delightful spot we are 
in no way to be pitied, and all the less so because 
this hollow escapes the ever malevolent eye of the 
Boche observers, and consequently their shells — at 
least relatively, for the Boches never remain inactive. 
When you receive nothing from them, you may con- 
clude they are planning a "dirty trick." Now, here 
we do not remain without receiving anything: from 
time to time a stupid shell will unexpectedly make 
itself heard around the lake, striking at random, 
merely to remind us that the Boches have not for- 
gotten us. 

Thus, some charming little corners, sometimes quite 
near the most disputed ground (the Lingekopf is only 
a few hundred metres away as the crow flies), exist 
even in war-time. In spite of all the means of de- 
struction we invent, there will always be beautiful 
things; and the injury we shall have done to nature 
will be insignificant compared to all the beauties which 
will survive. 



September 12. 

Yesterday, on a splendid night, we suddenly left 
our Lac Noir camp. We descended to Plaimfaing, 
which we had left two days before, and reached the 
slumbering village at 2 a.m. This morning I was 
awakened by the sound of church bells, ringing a 
loud peal for mass, for it is Sunday. 

The village, although close to the Bonhomme 
lines, has little suffered; but a few houses bear 



302 A CEUSADER OF FRANCE 

the marks of shells on their walls. The manufactories 
are at work, and everybody lives as usual. The 
people of the district are honest in every sense of the 
word. 

September 14. 

Since yesterday morning we are installed at 
Corcieux, an ordinary little village similar to those 
scattered about these intricate valleys of the lower 
Yosges. 

Corcieux is one of the chief aviation centres of the 
Vllth Army. 

Every minute aeroplanes pass above the houses, 
rising to leave on reconnaissance, or vol-planing from 
the heavens with the characteristic interruptions of 
their motors, on their return from a flight over Alsace. 
There are many smart officers, some of them very well 
known. 

I lodge at the parsonage^ in a room of biblical sim- 
plicity and impressive capacity; it is big enough to 
manoeuvre a company in. 

During our stay here we are going to take big doses 
of exercise to reconstitute the battalion and convert 
the uncouth reinforcements they have given us into 
blue devils.^ 

For the race of mountain-infantry is dying out. 
Time and labour are needed to reconstitute last 
year's battalions. The old 11th — that which left 
Annecy on August 5, 1914 — is long since exhausted. 

1 ' ' Diables bleus, ' ' — the popular generic term for tlie moun- 
tain-infantry, the famous Chasseurs Alpins. — Translator's 
note. 



AT THE CORCIIEUX CAMP 303 

. . . It is a fatal law of this man-eating war. "With! 
the Boehes, it is certainly the same. 

CORCIEUX, 

September 19. 

A year ago, under the impulse of that miraculous 
victory of the Marne, people still thought that the 
war would quickly be over, and counted on the 
flight of the German troops to the Meuse, to the 
Rhine. 

However, since then they have not moved. 

One must he very stupid to moan and complain. 
"We have been so near disaster that we can never 
congratulate ourselves enough at having been saved 
at the last minute. Those who find the time long 
and grow exasperated because victory does not 
appear in sight are very much in the wrong. It is 
not those who fight who do this. At the front we 
know only too well that victories are not won 
by fine words, or even by good intentions, but that 
patience and perseverance are above all necessary, 
because an effort is sterile unless it is continuous. 
You are doubtless acquainted with Abel Faivre's 
sally: to a down-hearted civilian who expresses 
his astonishment, almost indignation at our in- 
ability so far to pierce the German front, a 
wounded officer replies: "Evidently ... we owe you 
our apologies!" 

Patience must be well preached to all if we are 
not to hear the same complaints should the "big 
blow" in preparation not produce all the results 
expected. "We must not place our reliance on 



304 A CEUSADBR OF FRANCE 

anything, or on anybody, except on God; but 
do as much as possible ourselves, without being 
concerned about the apparent uselessness of our 
efforts. We ought to tell ourselves over and over 
again that an effort is never useless, on condition 
we do not measure its efficaciousness by an effect 
fixed d priori. We are wrong always to work for 
something. Doubtless, we must choose for our 
activity goals that are not too far apart, give the 
right direction to and regulate what we do accord- 
ing to an idea or object; but we must recollect that 
effort is not to be valued merely by the fruit it 
bears, but that it possesses, in itself, a value and a 
virtue sufficiently high for us to esteem it without 
anything more. Let us confidently cast into the 
universal crucible whatever labour, or will-power, 
we can furnish ; and then leave that mysterious chem- 
istry to operate and bring forth from that mixture 
some precious matter, without our knowing the secret 
of that marvellous distillation. Do not let us impose 
our rules or desire on God, but become aware of our 
dependence. 

Our liberty — that liberty which God Himself, 
said Bossuet, wished to respect — is certainly not 
harmed thereby, because that liberty cannot 
stretch beyond Him who gave it us. It comes 
from God, and yet some people would see its effect 
outreach God. . . . 

The finest liberty is that which enables us to free 
ourselves from needs, desires, regrets, doubt — all those 
chains we ourselves have forged. We ought to live 
in the will of God, as a fish lives in water. Doubtless 
the fish is not free to live in the air, to soar like eagles, 



AT THE CORCIEUX CAMP 305 

or to run like a dog ; only, it does not desire to do so, 
through ignorance. But within the limits of its con- 
ception, it possesses entire independence over its 
movements. 

We also are relative, limited to our very poor means 
of knowledge. In this domain, of which our igno- 
rance is the boundary, we are able to move about 
freely. "What is peculiar to us is this: we realize 
our relativeness ; and our first proud impulse is to 
protest and revolt. "Why is the infinite which we 
guess, which we feel everywhere, on all sides, at the 
base of everything — why is it barred to us?" If, 
like the animals (and yet, are we able to speak for 
the animals?), we had no feeling of the absolute, 
we should live like them, content with the 
world we knew and perfect masters of our move- 
ments within the limits of that world. Only, we know 
that everything does not end at the horizon of our 
perceptions. 

The whole merit of life is there: in an act of 
humility and faith. The greatest mind and the 
highest intelligence of this world will be esteemed, 
glorified, flattered; but there is more virtue in 
the humblest soul if it says once sincerely: "I 
believe. ' ' 

But why return to all this? It is so simple when 
one has once felt it, it forces itself upon one so 
strongly, that it is unnecessary to repeat it. Moreover, 
words have never convinced anybody. Faith is like a 
great discovery; it suddenly springs from obscurity 
and instantly appears so simple that we ask ourselves 
how it is we have sought for it so long. All converts 
must have had this feeling. 



306 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

So autumn is creeping upon us! The leaves are 
tinting, nights are drawing out; every morning 
a thick fog hangs over the damp meadows; and 
the sun appears only towards the middle of the 
morning. 

My thoughts go back to the misty winter mornings 
at Lyons, to the enchanted autumns at Lonnes, and 
to all the recollections they comprise. The present 
we are living would indeed seem barren if innumer- 
able bonds did not impart to it something of the past 
which it evokes. 

Is that the reason why I love these fogs of the 
Vosges, and that the evenings appear to me so beauti- 
ful on the hills, veiled in shadow, where the autumn- 
tinted trees sing among the pines? 

CORCIEUX, 

September 23. 

To-day is the anniversary of the fight of Sidi- 
Brahim. As usual, we celebrated this corporate fete 
of the mountain-infantry: somewhat at the last mo- 
ment, it is true. This morning a service was held in 
Corcieux Church in memory of the men of the 11th 
Battalion who died for France, 

In the afternoon, sports and amusements, impro- 
vised by the men, were organized as well as possible 
— songs, dancing, sack races, greasy pole, etc. The 
fete finished with a great attraction: a race between 
all our little donkeys. 

The evening of the day before yesterday I was able 
to go and spend a short time at Saint-Die, where I 
saw Mgr. Foucault, who was very kind. 



AT THE CORCIEUX CAMP 307 

CORCIEUX, 

September 24. 

Once more we come into contact here with the mili- 
tary profession as it was exercised and will continue 
to be exercised in garrisons. It is a strange way of 
employing one's life. One can understand the danger 
of a career in which one must be (out of war-time, of 
course) an apostle, a saint, an angel, a perfect being 
to perform one's duty completely. One's path is 
strewn with ruts. To avoid sinking into them, one 
must keep up the sacred fire of early days by means 
of constant attention and exactness. 

From the enthusiasm and ardour which elevated 
the Saint-Cyrian the slope which leads to routine, 
indifference, laziness, negligence, narrowness of in- 
tellect and soul is very gentle and imperceptible. 
One is either vulgar or magnificent in this profes- 
sion. An army ofiicer, a leader of men, must above all 
be a character : his men must feel, almost instinctively, 
that he is some one to be respected ; everything which 
proceeds from him, their leader — orders, acts, ges- 
tures, or words, nay even attitude — must bear the 
mark of moral superiority and elevation of mind. 
Moreover, he must know how to be as kind as pos- 
sible. "With us, in France, we do more through kind- 
ness than through fear, more by example than by in- 
struction. All this is difficult when one takes one's 
part seriously, and to devote one's whole soul to it is 
not too much. In this sense, there is perhaps no voca- 
tion, apart from the priesthood, which opens so wide 
a field. 

But side by side with this ideal, understood more 



308 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

or less by everybody but attained by nobody, what 
mediocrities must be avoided, what narrowness and 
meanness are to be feared! One needs a character 
of the highest order, when circumstances are unfa- 
vourable, to remain equal to one 's part ; and I believe 
that an officer, if he has been able to play this part 
for years in barracks, will have no difficulty in being 
a hero on the battlefield. There is no great merit and 
not much difficulty in conducting oneself well on ex- 
ceptional occasions; but it is very hard and meritori- 
ous to perform one's ordinary humble daily duties 
well. It is the same everywhere. A thought in the 
Imitation expresses it: "He that escheweth not small 
faults little by little shall slide into greater. ' ' 



September 27, 

Has the breach been made? — the great breach? — 
the real breach? . . . Twenty thousand prisoners 
is quite good for a start. What an event ! What joy 
there would be if, one of these mornings, we were 
told of the flight of the Boches along the whole line ! 
... Do not let us count on it too hastily. Let us be 
patient, calm, and confident ; let us hope, for we must 
always hope ; and then let us wait, praying to God to 
save France. 

We have been on the alert since yesterday, ready 
to set off at the first signal. Should this signal be 
given, it will be a good sign. So let us set off heartily. 
Just think of it ; the enemy's lines are pierced ! . . . 

The days grow shorter and shorter. The oaks 
and beeches are turning red on the hills and form 



AT THE CORCIEUX CAMP 309 

yellowish-brown splashes amidst the unchangeable 
black foliage of the pines; the fruit is ripening and 
the apples are falling in the orchards; whilst under 
the storm-shaken chestnut trees the ground is lit- 
tered with green spiked shells and parti-coloured 
chestnuts. 

I recollect, with that remarkable clearness which 
the most insignificant memories of childhood retain, 
the interest aroused in us, in the garden of the Rue 
des Alpes, by these tender chestnuts, which, because 
of their brown and white skins, we called "cows.'* 
Thus are commonplace images impressed on our 
minds, and, without our knowing why, everything 
they evoke thus assumes a peculiar charm and sweet- 
ness. How true it is that we encounter ourselves 
everywhere ! Truly, it is not objects we love : it is our- 
selves we love through these objects. 

Yesterday, to keep some comrades company, I went 
as far as Saint-Die, where I had the pleasant surprise 
to meet Jacques Delorme, who is in sound condition, 
both morally and physically. I passed those places 
which are so full of the tragic recollection of last 
year: Taintrux, Rougiville, Les Moitresses, and La 
BoUe. The town is cheerful and animated. The in- 
habitants appear to trouble themselves very little over 
the war, or at any rate see in it only an adventure 
which was worth experiencing. Morals and life there 
seem light and easy. War, which brings in its train 
so much care and mourning, also breeds a good deal 
of heedlessness. One would think that the proximity 
of danger and death impels people to love life for 
itself and to demand of it, without control, every- 
thing it can bestow. This is not, as I know, peculiar 



310 A CEUSADER OF FRANCE 

to one place, or to one epoch; and we must not be 
over-astonished at it. 

September 29. 

Rain, the tedious persistent rain of autumn, deluges 
our sky. Huge grey cloud-drift scuds from one end 
of the horizon to the other, similar to a dark river 
which flows heavily and incessantly, submerging the 
rounded summits of the totally black hills and bearing 
sinister eddies along with it to the sides of the flooded 
slopes. 

The cloud- waves follow one on the other endlessly; 
they race along, roar behind the lines of pines, cross 
the sky in a long mournful procession to the distant 
portals, through which they pass, one by one, with the 
same continuous movement. 

Poor fellows, those who are fighting in Champagne 
or in Artois, if they have weather like this ! The rain 
and the mud, the slippery ground and the cold are 
so many more obstacles to be added to so many 
others; so many more enemies to be conquered at the 
same time as the Boches. "Whereas we, at least, 
possess roofs over our heads, our brothers over there 
confront at one and the same time the greatest dan- 
gers and the cruelty of this wretched day. It is asking 
a good deal of their valour; but not too much. It is 
never too much when one has the will-power to reach 
the goal at all cost, and when the stake is worth that 
price. 

Moreover, we judge the difficulty and grandeur of 
sacrifice from a distance. "When we ourselves are in 
the storm we have less leisure to consider the risks 
or difficulties of it; we are not spectators but actors, 



AT THE CORCIEUX CAMP 311 

and that is very different. Assuredly, it is mucli 
better to live in this way outside ourselves ; for it is 
only then that we can give ourselves up to our work 
whole-heartedly. If fear of the task to be accom- 
plished should flash across the mind, this other thought 
follows immediately, as a reply to every fear of weak- 
ness: "if my strength is insufficient for the effort, 
death will relieve me of the iiiipossible. " This idea 
is perhaps cowardly, but very often we need more 
courage to live in spite of everything than to accept 
a liberating death. But I know, for my part, that 
it has come to me sometimes of its own accord, so 
to speak, as the spontaneous protest of animal in- 
stinct for which life does not extend beyond certain 
possibilities. What a strange amalgam we are ! 

But, in reality, reasoning is very summary on the 
battlefield. You march forward with one or two 
fixed ideas: that of advancing towards or reach- 
ing a definite point. Other ideas momentarily cross 
that one, like flashes; or else images take shape, 
coming we cannot say by what chance from the 
obscure depths of memory, and immediately fade 
away. At other times — and who has not experi- 
enced this? — a melodious air or the rhythm of a 
verse obsesses you, obstinately jingling like a small 
bell. All this is strange, incoherent, difficult to 
explain. 



CORCIEUX, 

October 4. 

Under a uniformly grey sky and in drizzling rain, 
we have just paid honour to the flag of the moun- 



312 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

tain-infantry, which Colonel Passaga came to present 
to us. Much glory is hidden in the folds of that faded 
piece of silk; many unknown acts of heroism and 
many lives have been offered for the ideal of which 
this piece of stuff is at once the golden book and the 
symbol. The cross of the Legion of Honour and the 
military medal, hanging from the staff, sum up every- 
thing which constitutes the pride and renown of the 
CTiasseurs Alpins. 

Several decorations were presented. The fanion of 
the 6th company — my fanion — received the Croix de 
guerre with the star for a mention in the army orders 
of the 2nd brigade of mountain-infantry, commemo- 
rative of the Lingekopf , August 18. 

October 5. 

I write to you from Frais, a big hamlet of ten 
houses ; for we have removed . . . 

We arrived this morning at Belfort, and left a few 
minutes later to come and take up our quarters in 
these two little villages of Fontaine and Frais, almost 
on the former frontier of the Upper Rhine. 

And what are we going to do now? 

I am not in a position to say, and it is not sur- 
prising we are left in ignorance. 

I know not why this dull day, these veiled horizons, 
these red leaves, this misty sky particularly carry my 
thoughts back to the autumn landscapes so long, so 
profoundly admired and loved, at the same season, in 
that dear district of Lonnes, in the happy years of 
the past. 

What magic evocative power, what wealth of 



AT THE CORCIEUX CAMP 313 

emotion and tenderness is concealed, then, in this 
mysterious season of autumn? Why do the small- 
est objects, the most ordinary and simple images 
acquire, through the mere mirage of the moment, 
those marvellous and enrapturing features of which 
the memory afterwards preserves an indelible im- 
press? That is the secret of nature — that nature 
which remains for all the school of beauty. And 
that is also, doubtless, the design of the Maker, who 
desires to reveal Himself by His works to those who 
know, or are able to perceive the light only by its 
reflections. 

Formerly, I thought that to each individual only 
one form of landscape was suited and expressive: 
that the Savoyard or inhabitant of Dauphiny under- 
stood his mountains and despised the lowlands, as 
the sailor loves the ocean and disregards the Alps; 
that there was, in this love and worship of the soil 
something like an involuntary prejudice, similar to 
that we so easily display in our judgments. But I 
no longer believe this. In this great open book, in 
which every one by himself can learn to read, there 
is no dead letter for anybody. It suffices, according 
to the classic formula, "to go to the truth with all 
one's soul" to feel oneself vibrate in unison with the 
divine harmonies. In that universal vibration, the 
soul moves with the same freedom as a fish in the sea, 
or an eagle in the sky; it seems as though we formed 
part of that universe, of which we are but atoms. 
Nevertheless . . . man's pride is so violent that he 
readily considers everything surrounding him as a 
world subjected to his caprices. The most insignifi- 
cant particle of this illimitable universe, he claims 



314 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

to dominate, encompass, fathom it. Let him con- 
sider then his weakness, the brevity of his life, and 
his powerlessness to modify the smallest detail of that 
evolution. 

Where am I? On the damp moss, on the margin 
of the peaceful pool of Fromenteau? Among the 
solemn oaks of Fontaine-Froide ? On the bare rocks 
of the peaks of the Oisans ? No ! — only, the imagina- 
tion, long encaged, sometimes escapes; it flies away 
quickly, so quickly that it has covered leagues and 
years at a single bound. Let us put it back in its 
cage, for it is getting late. We will see to-morrow 
if we can grant it another little flight. 

Octoher 8. 

Once more we have changed our residence. Since 
yesterday we are in respectable trenches, more 
than a year old, and which wind across the plains 
of Alsace. No more mountains, no more pines, no 
more swampy valleys, as in the Vosges! Here 
everything is spread out. The horizon is only 
blocked out by the outskirts of a wood, and by a 
succession of hedges, houses, or roadside banks. The 
ground is not uneven; nor is it quite flat; but the 
undulations which give it life are so ample, so faintly 
outlined, that the eye hardly succeeds in taking 
them in at a glance and mingles them in a single 
expanse. 

There now! — ^they have just called me to the 
telephone to tell me that we must be in readiness 
to be relieved here at the end of the afternoon. The 
last few days we have decidedly been living a life of 
expectation. 



AT THE CORSIEUX CAMP 315 

Come what may and whatever destiny may be in 
store for us, let us entrust ourselves to the hands of 
God and do, always and everywhere, the least ill we 
can. The rest depends not on us. 

Therefore, let us face all possibilities with the same 
equanimity; let us accept in advance what will hap- 
pen, convinced that we shall ever find an opportunity 
of acting well. No desires, no regrets, is the motto 
of wisdom. 

October 14. 

A marvellous autumn twilight! What tender 
evocations, indelible images, recollections and sweet- 
ness the sight of these freshly-ploughed fields, these 
russet woods, and purple swamps summon to the 
mind! 

We have just returned to our quarters after a long 
and delightful excursion across the fields. This is no 
longer warfare, but poetry and happiness in move- 
ment. Frightened hares, partridges in whirring, 
arched coveys fled before us, surprised by our intru- 
sion into their domain, which the war has respected 
since the autumn before last. 

We leave to-morrow and entrain at Belfort in the 
evening, bound for Gerardmer. Doubtless we are re- 
turning to our old sector or elsewhere. . . ,\ 

October 17. 

We are again attached to sector. ... 

One more quiet day are we spending in this little 
town of Gerardmer, which has become, as it were, 
our resting-place. Still a good deal of animation. 



316 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

This afternoon the band is giving a grand concert 
at the bandstand. All Gerardmer has arranged to be 
there. 

We shall probably leave the day after to-morrow 
for the Schratzmaennele, where the Boches have 
been displaying an ill-omened activity for some time. 

We shall set out courageously, notwithstanding our 
recollection of the sanguinary days of August. Some 
one must hold this sector; and if it is more difficult 
to hold than others, it is an honour for those sent 
there. I shall be glad if I can meet up there Major 
de Reynies. He is one of those who have neither 
disappointed our hopes nor fallen in the esteem of all 
those who knew him before the war. 



THE LAST STAGE 



Chapter X 
THE LAST STAGE 

October 19. 

We have just arrived at the camp of H , in the 

midst of the woods. We knew this little nook during 
the long days of June ; now we find it wholly saturated 
with autumn. Candles have to be lit at an early 
hour in the shelters, which we are already thinking of 
warming. To-morrow we shall go to the trenches, 
and doubtless remain for a long time. 

Octoler 20. 

A very quiet day for our return to trench life. 
The Boches are quite near; but are frightened of us, 
although we have exchanged our berets for steel hel- 
mets. They seem to be anxious to avoid bringing 
trouble on themselves. 

I heard the day before yesterday that I have 
been awarded the Legion of Honour. It gave me 
great pleasure to think of the joy this would be 
to you. 

319 



320 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

October 21, from the trenches. 

Here we are, since last night, crouching in the dens 
of the Schratzmaennele, not far from the Lingekopf , 
which is but a spur of the same mountain-chain. 
They are indeed dens which shelter us — veritable 
caverns excavated four to five metres underground, 
and which the German marmites would find a diffi- 
culty in destroying. 

I have had the pleasure to receive here that fine 
type of French officer — ^Major de Reynies. The war 
has aged him; but only the more prominent features 
of his face and grizzled hair bear the impress of age. 

His look, as keen and true as a sword, and the noble 
expression of his face display, on the contrary, the 
still youthful vigour of this finely tempered mind, 
which escapes the wear and tear of time like choice 
steel resists the action of rust. 

There is something comforting in meeting such 
men, whose very presence is beneficial, and whose 
hand-shake is eloquent. I can understand the attach- 
ment retained for him by all who have come into 
close relations with him. He is one of the examples 
of that old French race whose sons — born soldiers — 
remain amidst our faithless society the apostles and 
priests of the cult of one's native land. I recollected 
yesterday, on seeing him, so simple and open in his 
manner, so tall in the partial shadow of his dugout, 
the impression he made on us, a few years ago, when 
we joined his company and he delivered to us little 
unassuming lectures on the flag, France, and its his- 
tory. Whence comes that mysterious bond which 
attaches us to certain beings in such a way that, after 



THE LAST STAGE 321 

having known and frequented their company but a 
short time, and then having long remained without 
seeing them, their unexpected reappearance immedi- 
ately places us in an atmosphere of sympathy, friend- 
ship and confidence? 

OdoUr 22. 

I have just arisen after taking a few hours sleep 
on a little couch arranged in a corner of the dugout. 
Every modern comfort is here: dining-room, which 
also serves as an ofiSce; and next to it a bedroom, in 
subterranean communication with the room of the 
agents de liaison and the telephone cabin, so that this 
mole-hill possesses two exits, which may simply save 
our lives in case one of the two is obstructed by a 
shell. 

Octoher 26. 

The whole of the Schratz is enveloped in a dense 
motionless fog, in the midst of which the branchless 
trunks of the pines rise like mortuary candles. What 
a strange world, difficult to imagine in the ease of 
any one who has not seen it, and of which no other 
can give an idea ! This insignificant mountain, similar 
to all those around, and which would certainly have 
remained unknown and deserted, has become some- 
thing indefinable that war, that this war alone can 
realize. It is neither a fortress, nor a bivouac, nor a 
haunt of troglodytes, nor a wood, nor a quarry, but 
at one and the same time all that, and yet something 
else, partaking of the fantastic as much as of the 
picturesque. Here indeed is life for those who desire 



322 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

it ! Here is a novelty — something never seen before ; — 
an adventure that no one would have dreamt of if 
circumstances had not created it. 



October 27. 

This morning, on leaving my lair, I found the 
ground frozen and the air keen. The mighty sum- 
mit of the Hautes-Chaumes opposite us was all white. 
This is the first and timid forerunner of winter, which 
is slowly creeping on and which we shall soon experi- 
ence — harsh and magnificent — in these Vosges, which 
become more fierce to receive it. 

I expect new, penetrating, and thoughtful impres- 
sions to result from the long winter we shall doubtless 
spend in this district. Blockaded by the severity of 
the season, we shall live weeks of an existence so 
different from that which is normally led by men of 
the twentieth century that some ineffaceable impress 
must remain on us. 



October 31. 

It is almost a year since I learnt — ^in a letter from 
papa, dated October 26 — of Jean's death. The year 
which has gone by since that sorrowful evening has 
most certainly been an endless joy for our Jean ; and, 
notwithstanding the sadness of this anniversary, we 
must not let our inevitable bitterness prevent us from 
recognizing the supreme good attained by him. Be- 
tween the levity and indifference which make a care- 
less life and the excessive anxiety of those who extend 



THE LAST STAGE 323 

the field of emotions inordinately, there must be room 
for a golden mean, in which sensibility is at once 
living and contained, capable of feeling everything, 
but controlled and moderated by clear-sighted con- 
fidence. 

I have just been interrupted by a curious incident. 
The Boches who occupy the geographical summit of 
the Schratz, only a short distance from our lines, have 
thrown a cardboard box, weighted with a stone, into 
our trench. The box bore a luggage label with the 
address of a Boche soldier. This address was care- 
fully written, but on the exterior of one side of the 
box were scrawled in big letters with a blue pencil 
these words: "Hast du kein kugel mehr?" — "Have 
you no more bullets?" The explanation of this 
uncommon message is simple. In the afternoon 
some men of the sector nearest to the Boches amused 
themselves (they amuse themselves as best they can!) 
by sending stones to these gentlemen by means 
of slings, made of a piece of canvas and two strings. 
The Teutons wished to reply to this delicate at- 
tention. As they generally sent us bombs or grenades, 
this abnormal object excited the highest interest and 
curiosity among the men, who hastened to bring it 
to me. 

As one politeness calls for another, I sent back the 
same box full of French newspapers, relating to our 
recent victories in Champagne, and added to them 
a note on which I wrote in German : ' ' Just come and 
you'll see whether the French have any more bullets 
for Germans!" — and underneath: "Long live 
France ! " If this little game amuses them, I propose 
to correspond as often as possible by sending papers 



324 A CEUSADER OF FRANCE 

rolled around stones. "We amuse ourselves the best 
way we can at the Schratz! 

November 1. 

This morning, in reply to an invitation sent by 
telephone, I went to hear mass. Quite so! — ^we had 
the All Saints' mass at the Schratz. It was in the 
bowels of the mountain, in the depths of the cavern 
which the captain who commands the groupe de com- 
bat inhabits, a hundred metres lower down than here ; 
it was in the silence and security of this unlooked- 
for refuge that the Abbe Darlier, the young division- 
ary chaplain, celebrated the mass for the small 
number of true believers whom this novel temple could 
receive. 

If I had been a painter, or if I had known how 
to depict with a few pencil strokes the most striking 
episodes of the campaign, I should not have failed 
to record that most original and touching scene: 
"The Catacombs of the Schratzmaennele. " It does 
one good, amidst the inevitable monotony of our dull 
existence, to meet again in so original a frame the 
ancient practices of that religion which, when quite 
little, we learnt to love before we understood its 
meaning and experienced its blessings. And I need 
hardly tell you that this morning, during that mass 
celebrated so near the front, in the very soil of those 
mountains on which so much blood has been shed, 
and which still keep the secret of so many obscurely 
heroic martyrs, I thought of the two heroes, of the 
two martyrs whose presence was, there, more per- 
ceptible than at any other hour and any other place. 



THE LAST STAGE 325 

Have they not a right to special reverence, they and 
all their equals, all those who died for the flag and 
a belief — have they not a right, like the martyrs of 
ancient Rome, to be prayed to and invoked with 
the other saints, on this day of the festival of all the 
saints ? 

Novemher 4. 

It was this morning, in fine, clear, cool weather, 
before my company assembled under the pines of 
Malwen-Wald, that I was consecrated a knight of the 
Legion of Honour. 

At the bottom of the valley, hidden under the 
dark cloak of the forest, the 75 's uttered, in slow 
salvoes, their triumphant notes. A German aero- 
plane, pursued by a series of white shrapnel, flew 
across the blue with all possible swiftness. No 
crowd, no gallery, no one else present except the 
men — my friends and to a certain extent my 
children, presenting arms with my green and yellow 
f anion in the centre of the square; no other display 
than that border of pine-trees and the light clouds 
in the sky; no other music than that of the 
guns. 

No mise-en-scene, no parade would have moved me 
more; and if I had had to choose the circum- 
stances, I should not have wished them to be differ- 
ent. And yet I was almost ashamed on finding 
myself in the midst of that little company, stiff and 
attentive around me; I seemed to occupy a position 
which was not made for me, to be assuming an hon- 
our that was not my due. It was not for that that 



326 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

I 

I left for the war. I fear that I may feel, after- 
wards, the ambition oi that which has happened apart 
from myself. Let hard-won and gloriously reaped 
laurels be given to others! Chance — Providence has 
permitted me to reach this day without injury 
and without having experienced any great diffi- 
culty. Others have merited and paid for the palm 
I bear away; and how many have remained in 
obscurity — ^humble, unrecognized, sacrificed, ignored! 
How many have disappeared without a complaint, 
without any one witnessing their sacrifice, without a 
halo of glory! 

Yes, amidst the emotion aroused by this overwhelm- 
ing honour, I feel the bitterness of so much neglect 
like remorse, and experience as it were the feeling 
of an injustice. Poor fellows, poor youngsters 
who fell among the pine-woods of Alsace, on the 
plains of the North or of Flanders! — poor little 
chasseurs! Of what importance to you, and of what 
importance to those who weep for you in the cot- 
tages of Savoy, is this red ribbon which you have 
dyed with your blood? The heroes — ^where are 
they? They have neither stripes nor medals; they 
are invisible and innumerable. Every day they 
silently repeat their admirable sacrifice. Nobody 
looks at them, nor loves them; they believe so at 
least because they cannot guess. It is necessary 
to go, so they go; it is necessary to suffer, so they 
suffer; they are wounded and die; their bodies are 
sometimes abandoned, lost, annihilated; no one is 
there to see, to know, to understand. And later, 
when they have thus heaped up mountains of devo- 
tion and sacrifice, a privileged person of rank or some 



THE LAST STAGE 327 

one favoured by chance receives the price of their 
innumerable efforts. 

Have not Jean and Joseph each done a hundred- 
fold more and merited a hundredfold better than 
myself? 

That is why this day, which brings us such great 
pride and honour, also weighs upon me like a fault. 
No, not like a fault; for I know that justice among 
men is but a convention of a code and that the real 
judgments are delivered elsewhere. 

To be decorated so near All Saints' Day — what 
an insignificant incident! How commonplace this 
enamelled cross seems compared with the rude crosses, 
made of two pine branches, which open their arms 
above the tombs ! . . . You speak of glory ? But it is 
not I who receive it to-day ; it is for them. Certainly 
they envy me nothing; and that thought comforts 
me. To every one according to his merit. Their 
happiness above is incomparable. By that standard, 
the proportion is certainly more accurate. 

My greatest pleasure (and this I accord myself 
unreservedly) is to think that what has happened 
to me may give you pleasure. This honour results 
from you. All the good I possess comes from you. 
Whatever distinction is granted me, I owe it to you. 
Such accounts as these the world does not keep ; the 
world is short-sighted and does not look beneath the 
surface ; but God knows. May He grant you what the 
homage of the world cannot give you. As long as 
I live I shall not cease to ask Him to guide me, so 
that, as far as in me lies, I may give you satis- 
faction; and I am well aware that I shall always lag 
behind. 



328 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

November 5. 

This is our last day of rest at Malwen-Wald. To- 
morrow, at dawn, we shall return to our post at the 
Schratz. 

Yesterday evening the gallant poilus of the com- 
pany gave me a delightful surprise. At about seven 
o'clock, just as we were sitting down at table, we 
heard the strains of the Sidi-Brahim coming from the 
threshold of the hut; a chorus of chasseurs of the 
6th company who had come in the darkness and cold- 
ness of the night to execute a serenade in my honour. 
They sang the Sidi-Braliim and a few couplets 
of their patriotic songs, and concluded by shouting: 
"Long live Captain Belmont!" Fine fellows! 
You will realize how touched I was by their 
demonstration. Man's gratitude and affection are 
the best of rewards. No price can be set on such an 
offering. 

November 6. 

Mud, snow, fog — that is what we found this morn- 
ing when we came and took possession again of the 
Schratz — "our Schratz." "We now feel that we are 
in a familiar district when, after four days in the 
second line, we return to our high-perched country 
residence. The summit of the Schratz, from which 
we are not more than fifty metres distant, has an 
altitude of a thousand metres, so it is not astonishing 
that snow has made its appearance. 

The shattered trunks of the pines, seen through 
the fog, evoke the mournful stelse of a necropolis. 



THE LAST STAGE 329 

rhat terrible Lingekopf is indeed a cemetery; and 
ao one will ever know how many sleep their last sleep 
there under the stones, the debris, the heaped-up earth, 
md shattered shelters — those whom no one will 
jxhume. 

From time to time, in the course of digging a 
sap, the pick-axe unearths a buried corpse. We do 
aot always succeed in discovering whether it is that 
Df a German or that of a Frenchman — it is nothing 
2iore than rottenness, an unnameable thing. Never- 
theless, sometimes we still try to find out who it 
is. In defiance of our repugnance, we succeed in 
rescuing a paper, a letter, a military memorandum- 
book. Who will do this afterwards? we ask our- 
selves. And the thought of all the anguish born of 
incertitude aids us to make the necessary effort, 
rhe veneration of the dead and care for their tombs 
ire feelings which the war has greatly developed. 
Spontaneously, the men honour, wherever they can, 
the remains of their comrades who have died for 
France. The horrible work they sometimes have 
to accomplish on these devastated expanses thus as- 
sumes a veritable grandeur and superior nobility. 
[n their application, in the care they take in this 
sad labour, there is something more than the accom- 
plishment of an ordinary duty which hygiene or 
health suffice to order; there is the simple and pro- 
found faith that springs from the ancestral soul — 
the evangelical tenderness of mortal man for a 
fellow-creature: there is also, perhaps, a vague con- 
sciousness of the tacit delegation established between 
the men and the families of their comrades. "He 
3ame from my native place — he was a comrade." 



330 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

They can afterwards tell the family that they did 
what they could, and indicate the spot where the 
tomb is to be found. 

Every one does this naturally, knowing that his 
neighbour was struck down to-day, but that perhaps 
to-morrow it will be his turn; and that the sur- 
vivors will similarly be anxious to venerate his 
remains, as he did for the others. It is not incor- 
rect to say that these men grouped before the 
enemy and danger form a veritable family and con- 
sider themselves bound to each other by brotherly 
duties. They are indeed brothers in arms. This is 
one more of the salutary signs of our ordeal inas- 
much as it teaches those who pass through it in com- 
mon the duties of charity: ''Love thy neighbour as 
thyself." Suffering is the antidote for egoism, and 
the school of that most magnificent of all virtues: 
kindness. You find this thought expressed every- 
where; it springs in one form or another from 
every sincere soul. "Nothing makes you so great 
as a great sorrow," said Musset. Vigny — more 
anxious — replied: "Sacrifice, thou alone art virtue." 
Therefore we must welcome suffering, not merely 
as a necessity, like fatalists, but as a blessing, like 
believers. 

But every one agrees to that; nobody can deny 
the value of a heartily welcomed ordeal, nor the 
quality of the characters tempered by trial. Only, 
it is not enough to be convinced of this, one must 
also be capable, when the time comes, of upholding 
this conviction. It would be too easy to be perfect 
if all one had got to do was to be able to distinguish 
between good and evil. Better be a wise man without 



THE LAST STAGE 331 

knowing it. True merit is unconscious, knows not 
itself; and often also is unknown. It has renounced 
all honours and the world's consideration beforehand; 
and the world does not give that for which it does 
not ask. 

It seems to me that a man receives during his 
life very much what he desires. "Would he be re- 
garded with consideration, be flattered and glorified? 
That coin is not the rarest, and if he consents 
to beg for it people will not be niggardly. If he 
flatters, he wiU be flattered. Would he, on the 
contrary — disdainful of the months of fame — direct 
his life towards an ideal? Then the world will 
disdain him — injure him .completely if necessary. 
The world's judgment is in no case a criterion. If 
one would find the finest characters and the noblest 
hearts, one must not address oneself to the world's 
opinion: seek for them rather in the shadow, in the 
gutter, amidst the humble surroundings of simple 
duties and unobtrusive tasks. One must be atten- 
tive, patient, indiiferent to all rumours, insensible 
to all outward show to be able, in the long run, to 
distinguish noble souls. But, unless one is mis- 
taken, one's esteem and admiration grow daily. 
Thus ought we to direct our choice in friendship and 
marriage. 

November 10. 

Stern and howling autumn has indeed visited us 
to-day. This is the period of the year when people 
begin to live in houses and keep to the fire-side. 
This boisterous rainy weather is detestable in the 



332 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

towns because it disfigures everything and makes the 
streets insupportable. In the country, similar days 
have already something dramatic and startling about 
them. 

The mighty oaks of Fontaine-Froide must be 
groaning sinisterly, and on the ruffled waters of the 
solitary pools all the leaves of the water-lilies like 
black disks must be heaving. Flocks of starlings must 
be passing in clouds on a level with the brown earth, 
and the ring-doves, ample in their flight, are doubt- 
less sweeping over the tops of the yellowish-brown 
trees, carried along by the wind. It is good then, 
after a walk or shooting excursion, to return to the 
fragrant warmth of the room where a good wood- 
fire roars. Ah! what pleasant moments we experi- 
enced yonder, in the old family home, when we 
spent there the blessed peaceful autumns of former 
years! . . . 

It does one good, now, to evoke the recollection of 
that joyful intimacy. 

November 12. 

Wretched weather! Down in the depths of our 
subterranean shelter, we can hear, like a stifled wail, 
the moaning of the wind, which at times grows 
louder, then seems to subside, rises again, andj 
rushes past incessantly, making the few remaining 
branches of the pines spared by the shells vibrate 
like the cords of a double bass. The landscape is 
sinister and mournful. In this torn-up ground, 
strewn with debris and wreckage, in this perspec- 
tive of decapitated trees, in this mud, in this furious 



THE LAST STAGE 333 

ind, in this gloomy panorama where everything 
roclaims ruin and destruction, and in that impres- 
on of a perpetual menace which obstinately rises 
'om this landscape where invisible man is to be 
iiessed among the desolation — in all this there 
ould indeed be sufficient to drive one mad if one 
ere not already long familiarized with the fantastic 
ad the strange. "What more do these people want 
ho deplored the monotony and platitude of exist- 
jice, who clamoured for novelty and adventures, 
ad who exasperated this craving for the inedit to 
le point of torture? Here is something which 
aght to satisfy them; and, unless they were able 
) realize Dante's epic dream, or renew the relations 
E our positive world with the divinities of ancient 
lythology, I do not know whether they could, be- 
veen their birth and death, embrace anything which 
ould better respond to their arrogant desire to live 
leir lives. 

And yet I have long since been struck by the 
ttle cheerfulness shown by those very individuals 
^ho revolted the most noisily against the tameness 
£ existence. Oh the contrary, it is very often these, 
le impatient ones of old, who the least willingly 
ccommodate themselves to their uprooting and 
'^ho aspire, more or less ostentatiously, to recover 
le narrow sphere of a middle-class, comfortable 
»oism. 

Nevertheless, one must not be unjust. If there 
re some who accept this role as epic heroes reluc- 
mtly, many, faithful to their Gallic blood, reveal 
tiemselves to others and to themselves, and awaken 
nder the influence of these heroic days as though 



334 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

by magic; the profound sap within them rises like 
that of vigorous trees when spring drags them from 
their torpor. 

What do many people need to enable them to 
become true men? Merely an atmosphere, certain 
surroundings, a concurrence of circumstances which 
will apply that constraint upon them which, through 
inertness, indifference and routine, they neglected to 
exercise by themselves. Here, again, calamities like 
the war are blessings. How they shake off idleness 
and awaken energy, and what latent germs they 
fecundate ! 

For the great labours of little epochs we are worth 
nothing: our soul is insufficiently lofty, our will in- 
sufficiently curtailed for that. And, one might be- 
lieve, as our enemies believed, that we are self-made 
men, weak and cowardly, incapable of resilience. It 
is in this sense that people were able to say that this 
war was, on the part of the Germans, an error in 
psychology; only, it wanted but little for events to 
decide in their favour, despite their error in psy- 
chology; which proves how fatal it is to be lulled 
into the false security of thoughtlessne^-s, in spite 
of all the hope we may rightly place on our secret 
resources. 

It is the victory of the Marne which gives us our 
fine self-confidence and enables us to treat the 
Boches, disdainfully, as blunderers; but to what was 
that victory due? "God helps those who help them- 
selves." We escaped disaster thanks to God, and in- 
advertently. But if we had patiently maintained, 
since the disastrous war of 1870, the effort and unity 
of the nation, who knows whether this war would 



THE LAST STAGE 335 

not have long since ended gloriously ? It is more prob- 
able that it would never have broken out. ''If you 
desire peace," says the wisdom of nations, "prepare 
for war." 

But what is the good of reasoning about a fact 
which everybody now vie with each other to repeat? 
We shall ever be the same: men of genius follow- 
ing their own fancy, incorrigible chatterers, hair- 
splitting critics, individualists — I know not what! 
Our race will not change; nor, moreover, is that 
necessary. A child's education does not consist in 
violating its nature by imposing a rigid mould upon 
it, but in studying it with the object of afterwards 
putting it in the right direction. It is not a harm- 
ful weed that must be ruthlessly hoed up, but a 
wild plant that must be pruned, grafted, trained. 
France is an eternal child; one can neither hope nor 
wish that the lesson of the events through which it 
passes will transform its tastes or its affinities ; it 
suffices if it directs their course and disciplines them. 
Let us retain, if necessary, the defects of our quali- 
ties rather than lose these qualities themselves, but 
on condition that the good qualities dominates and 
the bad ones are the inevitable exception. And let 
us confess to ourselves that, on the other hand, 
the Boches possess the qualities of their defects: 
strength with pride, submissiveness with stupidity, 
application with sluggishness. Because we have ex- 
perienced the effect of that strength, discipline and 
method, do not let us be deceived, but know how 
to see them synthetically, as they are: big, strong 
and stupid. Upon the whole, I prefer to be a 
Frenchman. 



336 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

November 14. 

It was amidst the immaculate whiteness of snow 
that we left our second-line shelters to return to our 
trenches on the Schratz. It was not a long journey: 
two or three hundred metres of ascending communica- 
tion trenches along which one slowly proceeds, 
knocking oneself against the stones, roots and damp 
earth which form their sides. These trenches are 
the nightmare of this insidious war, in which one 
must constantly keep oneself hidden. What a relief 
when we are able to walk in the open air, upright, 
to fill our lungs with the air of open spaces, to gaze 
into the distance, on all sides, to live in broad day- 
light, with our heads on high and freedom for our 
limbs! The irksome and tyrannical communication 
trench is the slough of the soldier of to-day; the 
daily contribution which buys salvation; the small 
sacrifice, accepted a thousand times, which is worthy 
some day of apotheosis. Thus, as ever, the 
humble indefatigable task triumphs where the 
mighty effort of a single day would be shat- 
tered to no purpose. "He that escheweth not small 
faults little by little shall slide into greater. ' ' 

It snows — snows incessantly. Outside, myriads of 
white flakes chase each other, fly and dance in the 
air, swirl round in an incessant saraband, driven by 
the wind which urges them on like an army to the 
attack of impassable summits. 

A short time ago I was on the summit of the 
Schratz. The storm was so heavy up there, drove 
the stinging snow-flakes so violently against my face, 
that I was unable to open my eyes and had to 
hang on to the parados to be able to keep my feet. 



THE LAST STAGE 337 

There's a means of stirring the blood and bringing 
colour to the cheeks of the palest ! It does one good, 
after crouching for hours in one's hole, to get out 
and offer oneself to that rude but fresh and vivifying 
caress. 

Unfortunately, everything is not so magnificent, and 
this first fall of soft snow has resulted in suddenly 
impregnating with water the very permeable sandy 
or rocky soil of which this mountain is composed; 
and so in the saps, underground, infiltrations have 
occurred and water has begun to trickle through all 
the pores of the sandstone and through every crack 
in our wooden walls. Existence on the Schratz is most 
picturesque ! 

The Boches, who represent in the human species 
a genus quite distinct from that of the French, but 
who are men all the same, cannot be taking any more 
pleasure in this snow than we are. They must even 
be less satisfied, because the charm of outward beauty 
(at any rate its more subtle shades) generally fails 
to touch their obtuse souls. Not that reverie is un- 
known to them, nor that they are strangers to sen- 
timentality; but that their domain is that of 
intricate allegories. They perplex themselves with 
sterilizing analyses, exhaust themselves in endlessly 
ramified dissertations. The psychology, so grossly 
** objective," since they glory in it, is methodical, 
without either originality or colour. They are senti- 
mental rather than sensitive, intellectual rather than 
intelligent. 



338 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

November 19. 

The weather is beautiful — marvellously beautiful 
with this virgin snow, unsullied by anything, save, 
now and then, by shells. 

The nights are wonderful. This whiteness, this 
silence, and the moon which slowly rises amidst 
the shattered trunks of the pines, standing like the 
abandoned columns of very ancient ruins, and the 
shadows of which form long oblique lines, the cold 
which seems to descend with the light from this 
motionless sky, the solemn calm and majesty of 
these mountains with their unsurpassably serene 
summits, perhaps also the vague thought of the 
destiny which has guided us here, or else the wan- 
dering souls of all those who rest in peace under this 
shroud — all this fills one with inexpressible emotions. 
Truly, how small, how very small one feels in the 
presence of the eternal mystery! Can the exist- 
ence of a single one of us have any purpose in this 
universe ? 

November 23. 

The weather is still very fine, the air as mild as on 
a spring day, and the snow is beginning to melt. 
Look out for trickles in the shelters ! This beautiful 
sun does good all the same. The men, in front of 
their shelters, with hands in their pockets and pipes 
in their mouths, warm themselves in its caressing 
rays. What fine fellows these chasseurs are! 
They have, as is only natural, the defects of all 
troopers; they are indolent, bodily and mentally 
lazy, or sometimes display the mentality of semi- 



THE LAST STAGE 339 

soldiers ; and, of course, it is necessary to shake them, 
to speak to them rather strongly, from time to time, 
in the forcible language of the military profession. 
But really they are fine chaps! When one thinks 
of all they have got to endure, of those they have 
left behind, sometimes without resources, of the ruin- 
ation or uncertain state of their businesses, of the 
life they lead here in the cold and in the mud, shod 
with boots that are often leaky and clad in uniforms 
that are extraordinarily bad fits — when one recollects, 
on seeing their grease-covered hands, that they 
spend weeks without being able either to wash, or 
change, and when one sees them, in spite of every- 
thing, cheerful and smiling, amusing themselves over 
nothing like the children they are, joking about every- 
thing, about themselves as well as the Boches, and 
retaining at the bottom of their frank look the same 
expression of honest naivete, one cannot help esteem- 
ing, admiring and loving them. Behold the real 
heroes, the real saviours of the country, the real 
Frenchmen ! They have not the least idea of it — they 
have not the least idea of any great thing. They 
are the backbone of the country ; they are the men who 
will conquer, but it is not certain they will be aware 
of it. 

We officers will never possess that simple, natural 
virtue ; it is not in our role. Moreover, we are too well 
informed about everything, too educated, too inter- 
ested in ourselves. We are beplumed and bear the 
honour of responsibilities which are only made light 
thanks to them. We are always rather moulded 
by the feeling of our importance and governed by the 
urgent demands of our duties. That creates in us a 



340 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

sort of constraint which very often diminishes our 
share of activity as regards ourselves. The men, on 
the other hand, have nothing to gain for themselves 
and everything to lose, or at least life, which is already 
something. 

"We shall very shortly be leaving the Schratz. Our 
brigade will occupy the neighbouring sector, to the 
north of this one — that is to say, the region of the 
Lac Noir and Lac Blanc, from Pairis and the Tete 
de Faux. The 14th, which preceded us here, will 
succeed us there. 

November 28. 

Intense cold, heavy snow, radiant sunshine every- 
where. It is magnificent and dazzling; it makes one's 
ears tingle, but the soul dilates at the same time as 
one's lungs. 

We left yesterday evening at twilight on a 
reconnaissance and only returned this evening, after 
an enchanting excursion, to set off again shortly, at 
dusk. What an enrapturing, beneficent and splendid 
winter with this keen cold, this crunching snow, these 
sunrises and sunsets one is never tired of admiring 
on the roseate mountains! 

What about the Boches? Little we care for them! 
Moreover, we do not see them, as they remain in 
their holes. 

Pairis, 
November 29. 

Since last night we are the inhabitants of a new 
domain with which everybody declares he is de- 



THE LAST STAGE 341 

lighted. This valley of Pairis, which descends 
from the Lac Noir towards Orbey, is indeed an 
exceedingly pretty corner, and must have been a 
delicious goal for an excursion when all these 
houses, scattered along the slopes of the meadows, 
possessed a soul and a hearth. Now, everything is a 
desert. Doubtless there are still many people who 
live between the limits of this circle of Pairis, but 
in hiding. Among all these pretty houses with 
neat walls, big thatch and slate roofs, there are 
hardly any which are not shattered, pierced, or 
mined. All the inhabitants left last summer, much 
later than those of neighbouring valleys, because all 
were French in character, language, customs, and 
heart. But the Boche gunners were all the more 
anxious on that account to destroy their houses; and 
it was absolutely necessary for the occupants to 
depart. 

I had already been at Pairis before on a recon- 
naissance — last winter, in February, when the worthy 
Cure received us at his table and under his roof. 
Sisters of Mercy still kept the school, attended by 
the children in spite of the daily shells; and 
I recollect having heard in the morning, in the neat 
and pleasant little church, praying and singing in 
French. 

Notwithstanding this desolation and the holes in 
roofs and walls, the houses still offer precious re- 
sources; we do our cooking there and still use the 
few undamaged rooms, until they in their turn are 
struck. Almost all have good cellars, which serve as 
quarters; in such sort that the men, on leaving the 
Schratz, found themselves in paradise; and all 



342 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

the more so as the trenches are well fitted up, are 
provided with comfortable shelters and are relatively 
distant from those of the Boches, where, moreover, 
invariable quietness reigns. This place, therefore, 
is already a rest. The gallant poilus wash, change and 
warm themselves — of which they were greatly in 
need. 

I command a sub-sector comprising three companies 
of the 11th Battalion, including my own, and two com- 
panies of territorials. My sub-sector is very extensive 
and to see its whole length in detail will take three 
days. I rejoice that my position permits and even 
requires me_to move about, for one has great need 
of exercise after weeks in the trenches. These pros- 
pective excursions are beneficent diversions. True, a 
few shells fall here and there; but there is room for 
everybody, and it would be an extraordinary accident 
if one of them were to fall just on the spot where 
I was. 

December 3. 

It is still raining — raining as though it would 
never stop. This morning, an immense rainbow, 
stretching over the valley from one mountain to 
another, momentarily appeared in the sky; but 
such furtive apparitions are very quickly obliter- 
ated, enveloped in the tentacular "scarfs" which 
stretch out in all directions. Whereupon the down- 
pour recommences and the wind, continuing its 
wild race, drives the rain along in fine particles, 
just as it sweeps the sands of the desert before it. 
One can distinctly see the rain passing in a sheet, 



THE LAST STAGE 343 

in a succession of waves, one racing after the other. 
Among these stern-visaged mountains, in these rest- 
less forests, and on these deserted slopes, the tem- 
pest puts no check on its frolics. The pines, swaying 
from side to side, hending, and brushing against 
each other, producing a sound like the roaring 
of the tide, must be the accomplices of this fierce 
wind. They are accustomed to play together; 
they fight and defy each other voluptuously, like 
indefatigable companions who have struggled for cen- 
turies. It is the clasp of two gigantic forces, which 
attract each other and take form one through the 
pther. 

Are such scenes repeated everywhere in nature for 
the sake of the senses and souls of us wretched men? 
"What a strange mystery these powers are which 
dominate us from so great a height and in the 
presence of which we refuse to believe ourselves 
worthless ! This storm, which has been raging for three 
days incessantly, bending the ancestral pines of the 
forest as though they were slender heads of corn, 
transforming the face of the mountains, and making 
the earth tremble, disturbs us hardly at all. Although 
so weak, so light before the irresistible blast of the 
hurricane, we are conscious of our strength and of 
our immortality. Where can that feeling come from 
if we have sprung from nothingness and are to return 
to it? 

Best assured that I lack nothing; that I have not 
only everything indispensable, but much that is super- 
fluous, and that the majority of those who are fight- 
ing at this moment would be very glad to have a part 
of all I possess. For you send me even dainties, and 



344 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

I should be telling an untruth if I told you I do not 
appreciate them. 

But I am chiefly grateful to you for the boundless 
affection of which these gdteries are but one of the 
thousand and one manifestations, and chiefly for all 
those prayers — ^your own and those you obtain for 
me around you — which are the most precious and high- 
est expression of your tenderness. God bless you for 
it ! — for we ourselves remain, in spite of our efforts, 
far in arrear with our debts. Above all, may 
God grant you, as a supreme gift, that peace which 
enables one to accept all burdens and all sac- 
rifices with equal serenity. The thought sometimes 
comes to me that it would perhaps be better for 
me not to survive this war, for fear that afterwards 
my life might not be worthy of the gifts I have re- 
ceived. But my life will be according to the will of 
God. ... 



December 9. 

Pitiless squalls of wind are coming from the west, 
howling incessantly. This voice, repeating its com- 
plaint indefinitely, is mournful and obsessing. At one 
time it swells, grows louder, becomes like the shriek of 
a hooter; at another it is deeper and more discreet, 
like the roaring of a stove. 

Inside my hut, one can hear first of all that faint 
drawling note which comes from above, below, 
everywhere and nowhere; and one also perceives, as 
a more definite song, the rushing of the air between 
the bare branches of the trees and the pine needles. 



THE LAST STAGE 345 

That song is not sinister like the other; it is simply 
the murmur of the trees, replying to the tempest. 
But the other, that insidious music, at once distant 
and near, which rises to furious crescendos, falls 
again, grows lower, becomes almost sweet, and then 
swells afresh, that universal moan has something 
poignant about it: in passing it seizes your soul 
as though to turn it inside out or twist it ; and one 
might think that it drags with it all lost or sorrowful 
spirits. 

At this part of the front the lines are fairly dis- 
tant and separated by an entirely neutral valley. 
Consequently we are not in contact with the Boches, 
although their patrols and ours move about fairly 
often in the valley. There even remain, between 
the lines, a few inhabited houses. The occupants 
never show themselves during the day and are 
revictualled from Orbey during the night. That 
is all the same rather curious. Since the Boches 
have let them remain there, their presence is not 
harmful to them and it may even, probably, be of 
some use. Consequently, everything leads me to 
regard these people as suspicious, and I have 
strongly urged the company, in front of which these 
dwellings stand, to bring the occupants into our lines 
if they can get hold of them. If you make war, 
especially against the Boches, you must do it 
absolutely. I have never understood nor shared 
the scruple which has caused our artillery to abstain 
from bombarding all those villages in which the 
Boches sprawled under our very eyes. It is true 
civilian inhabitants were there ; but on receiving 
the first shell they would probably have left, and 
then . . . 



34:6 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

Pairis, 
December 12. 

I have just spent part of the afternoon walking 
in a deluge of rain. Fortunately, we possess 
at Pairis a spacious cellar, comfortably fitted up by 
those excellent territorial officers who welcome us 
here with such perfect cordiality. Just imagine! — 
in this cellar we are lighted a giorno by electricity. 
At only a few hundred metres from the Boches. 
Admirable. 

For since yesterday I am definitely at Pairis, where 
I have rejoined my company. 

Yesterday and the day before patrols from Noir- 
mont went to fetch the inhabitants who had remained 
in their houses in front of the lines. They brought 
back a man, two old women and a young mother with 
her baby. The poor folk didn't know what to think. 
It was not a pleasant job to remove them in this 
way on the spur of the moment, but really, con- 
sidering what this war is, we could not leave them 
between the lines, nearer to the Boches than to us 
and, moreover, revictualled by their troops. This 
evening another patrol is going to try to bring back 
two cows left in one of the houses. Ours is a funny 
calling. 

December 14. 

The days succeed each other and slip by very 
quickly, without noteworthy happenings. "We come 
and we go, we walk about in the meadows, in the 
streams or along the roads, which is practically the 



THE LAST STAGE 347 

same thing; for tiny rivers flow on all sides, every- 
where where their fancy or the declivity of the ground 
impels them. 

We live a cheerful life in our cellar. The best 
humour reigns at table, around which are always 
grouped ten guests or so ; for Pairis is frequented by 
numerous visitors who know they will find a hearty 
welcome here. At night we sleep like dormice in this 
huge cellar which is, decidedly, one of the most ex- 
quisite places I have known. In brief, we lead a 
perfectly agreeable life. 

Pairis, 
December 15. 

A splendid day with a pale sky, the cold fairly 
sharp but dry, and hardly modified towards noon 
by the uncertain sun, which seems to have no 
more strength left in it to rise, and which barely 
gets higher than the pines of Noirmont at the high- 
est point of its course. Pairis receives only its 
oblique and timid rays, which hardly warm it, but 
light it up with a pretty veiled light, roseate and 
discreet. 

A fairly lively artillery duel ; also many aeroplanes 
which circle and whir in the blue, pursued by white 
shrapnel. At nightfall we meet in this sumptuous 
cellar, some of us to write, others to play bridge, 
others again to peruse the illustrated periodicals or 
the newspapers. A pleasant "Pairisian" life! Only 
the Boches are quite near; a fact which takes away 
none of the charm, but merely interrupts it now and 
then. 



348 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

December 17. 

I have visited various points of the sector this morn- 
ing, accompanied by my excellent comrade, De Beau- 
voir, with whom I get on admirably — as admirably 
as with Captain Boissard, who is indeed one of the 
most interesting and sympathetic companions I have 
met since the beginning of the war. "We thus make 
the acquaintance of the most varied people, even in 
our area, which is certainly one of the most isolated 
in this respect. 

No atmosphere could be more favourable than that 
of war for seeing under their best aspect those new 
faces we meet one day and often leave the next, never 
to see them again. I have very rarely felt antipathy 
for these chance comrades ; almost always we find our- 
selves in a sympathetic atmosphere, even with men 
whom in ordinary times we should have found dis- 
tant. To-day they are Frenchmen, and that is say- 
ing everything. How insignificant the petty differ- 
ences of opinion of former days appear through the 
prism of the ''sacred union," which is not a vain 
expression whatever people may say. Rubbing shoul- 
ders with all sorts and conditions of men is an amus- 
ing school and undoubtedly profitable. But, on the 
whole, those we have agreed to call soldiers are some- 
what rare in this school, by which I mean the 
main body of the army (they are perhaps less so on 
the staffs). A sub-lieutenant of my company, a, 
journalist and man-of -letters by profession, declares, 
not without pride, that "it is the civilians who are 
fighting." 



THE LAST STAGE 349 

December 18. 

Once more we are on the eve of a departure. 
To-morrow evening, in the night, we shall bid farewell 
to Pairis, its little grey chapel, its grey slate roofs 
pierced by shells — to this bower as calm as a country 
house — ^to this hospitable cellar, enlivened during a 
few days by our cheerful chatter. We shall imme- 
diately ascend to the Lac Noir, whence we set off the 
day after to-morrow to go into quarters at Saulxures, 
near Remiremont. Therefore we shall not be cele- 
brating Christmas here. I dare not say that I regret 
it, since we are going to rest, and above all because 
one must never regret anything. Any Way, I shall 
retain a delightful recollection of this little nest. In 
spite of the Boches, their shells and their "old iron," 
we have spent a most pleasant time here in excellent 
company. 

December 19. 

After a beautiful day, pallid and cold, comes an 
evening flooded by the light of the moon. It is freez- 
ing. The stars twinkle through a veil of fog. We 
are leaving ... we are leaving . . . The religious 
quietness which reigns on the mountain this evening 
makes this a melancholy farewell. To-morrow even- 
ing we shall be in quarters, in houses and under 
roofs. ... 

December 21. 

To-day I write to you from what is to us a new 
district, from Zainvillers, near Vogney, twelve kilo- 



350 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

metres from Remiremont and eighteen from Gerard- 
mer. Zainvillers is a small village where you hear 
neither shells nor bombs, nor anything Boche. In 
spite of the habit we have acquired of living almost 
everywhere, away from the ordinary conditions of 
modern existence, in spite of the undeniable savour 
and picturesqueness of the improvised installations 
in the heart of the wood or on the mountain, we feel 
a certain satisfaction in spending a few days in this 
way far from our enemies the Boches. 

We do not know how long we shall be here. It 
matters little. Sufficient for the day is the happiness 
or difficulty thereof. 

December 22. 

We are buried in snow. The pines, in rows one 
above the other on the slopes, are weighed down under 
their white load. The sky is invisible; a thick 
fog hides the summits which surround us; it is 
indeed a true winter day, with everything grey and 
white. 

The village which shelters us is a dull place. One 
hardly ever meets anybody outside. The women, 
busy with their house- work, go out but little; the 
men are almost all at the war. Only the children 
give a little animation to the streets when they pass 
in noisy bands on their way home from school. 
The chasseurs, who are in quarters here for the first 
time, arouse tremendous interest in this young France. 
As soon as we arrived, the whole place rang with 
the noise of the youngsters, running from one 
end of the village to the other, shouting: ''Here 



THE LAST STAGE 351 

are the soldiers! Here are the soldiers! Here they 
come ! " If fire had been raging at the four cor- 
ners of Zainvillers they would not have been more 
excited. 

It is the first time, in fact, that the mountain 
infantry have come to stay here, so it is not astonish- 
ing our arrival created a sensation. 

There will be no midnight mass, neither here, nor 
at Vogney. The higher authorities have forbidden it, 
as many of the men might make it an excuse for 
spending the night in drunken rowdiness. 

There is vague talk of an early offensive in 
Alsace. . . . 



On the way, December 23. 

The days are not always alike. . . . Rain, snow, 
mud, mud, mud . . . transports in all weathers and 
by every means. 

"We live in the midst of complete uncertainty as to 
the morrow, or even as to the evening. Real warfare 
is beginning again. . . . Between two marches, we 
stop a few hours to eat and sleep. However, all goes 
well. . . . 



MOOSCH, 

December 24. 

The day before yesterday, whilst we were begin- 
ning to instal ourselves at Zainvillers, we received 
orders to be ready to leave in the evening. A little 
after eight o'clock motor-lorries took us up and car- 
ried us to Cornimont, where, in a pelting rain and 



352 A CRtrSADER OF FEANCE 

amidst a merciless mud composed of water and melted 
snow, we arrived at 10 p.m. After a night's rest at 
Cornimont, we set off yesterday afternoon for this 
little Alsatian village of Moosch, in the valley of the 
Thur. 

We have no orders for to-day, but everything leads 
us to believe that we shall not remain long at Moosch. 
Many people and much stir and movement in this 
little district where all the inhabitants have remained, 
and where, amidst the splashing of mud, commis- 
sariat wagons, lorries full of shells, civilian vehicles, 
soldiers of all arms and all uniforms, pass each other. 
For some days past there has been fighting near the 
Hartmannsweilerkopf. Yesterday evening the sky 
was lit up by the flash of the guns in that direc- 
tion, accompanied by a distant booming. We may 
indeed be going there when we leave here to-morrow. 
This morning we were awakened by a few shells 
which fell by chance in the village. It is still 
raining. 

December 25. 

A very uncommon Christmas Day! Suddenly 
leaving Moosch yesterday evening, we marched the 
whole night along muddy roads and at 4 a.m. reached 
the pines on the western slopes of the Vieil Armand, 
where we are installed, as well as possible, in holes and 
shelters which have nothing gorgeous about them. 
As everybody was tired out, we stretched ourselves 
on the beds we found to sleep, awaiting . . . The 
marmites hardly stopped crashing the whole night. 
This morning the uproar increased, and on all sides 



THE LAST STAGE 353 

there is still the continuous booming of guns. 
There is heavy fighting towards the south; in the 
direction of the plain of Alsace we can hear a for- 
midable rumbling. As the soldiers say, "it's getting 
devilishly hot!" 

Last night, when passing round the slopes of the 
Hartman, we saw the lights of Mulhausen twinkling 
on the great plain; and further away, the luminous 
lines of the quays of Basle. What an impressive 
spectacle ! 

My company, detached from the rest of the bat- 
talion, is here ready to reinforce the line in case the 
Boches threaten to outflank the positions taken by the 
28th Battalion on the slopes of the Hartman. What 
music for Christmas! 

December 26. 

For several days and nights the sky has drenched 
us with steadfast prodigality. It is not cold ; the bare 
and chaotic summit of the Vieil Armand itself is 
completely free of snow, and up there, as here, the 
pitiless rain is falling. 

We are still at the same place, among the pines 
of a little valley south of the Hartman. The shelters 
we occupy, and which, truth to tell, hardly merit 
that appellation, are invaded by water and hu- 
midity, and possess, in addition, the inestimable ad- 
vantage of being much sought after by the shells of the 
Boches. 

To say that this sojourn of ours is delightful 
would evidently be a slight exaggeration, but we 
might be worse, and certain battalions, which 



354 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

have led tlie attacks of recent days, might envy us. 

The abominable weather has hampered the opera- 
tions begun on December 21. Yesterday and to-day, 
violent cannonades. Yesterday afternoon we nearly 
received a fine 130 mm. shell (the genuine article). 
The three officers of the company and myself were 
in a vaguely armoured shelter, awaiting the end of 
the bombardment which made walking about in the 
open air at least picturesque. Two marmites, one 
after the other, fell a few metres from the shelter; 
a few minutes later a third struck the edge of the 
shelter, which gave way without getting obstructed; 
and, severely shaken, we were for some seconds com- 
pletely stupefied in an atmosphere of acrid smoke. 
Fortunately no one was hurt. We all four got off 
with a violent shaking without importance and a sing- 
ing in the ears which gradually disappeared. "We 
jumped into a neighbouring shelter, and the bombard- 
ment calmed down or was directed to some other point 
in the evening. "We had a narrow escape for Christ- 
mas Day. 

This morning the shells were less precipitous. 
But the day is not over. You will have learnt from 
the communiques that we have made a great advance 
on the northern and eastern slopes of the Hartman. 
Preceded by a formidable artillery preparation, the 
attack, it appears, was led with admirable spirit by 
several corps. A certain regiment of the Yosges 
of glorious reputation (the 152nd) quickly gained 
a good deal of ground. Unfortunately insuffi- 
ciently supported, and much in advance compared to 
neighbouring troops, it was outflanked the next day. 
. . . As to the 28th Infantry, whose attack filled 



THE LAST STAGE 355 

all who witnessed it with admiration, it captured in 
^ few minutes and with almost insignificant losses 
a strong position, the Hirtzstein rock, taking 150 
prisoners there. Up to now it has retained every- 
thing, in spite of a counter-attack the Boches made 
the day before yesterday. The latter are now con- 
tenting themselves by furiously bombarding with big 
calibre guns the first and second lines and the com- 
munication trenches. It is that which has led to our 
being knocked about in this way since we have been 
here. 

Whatever happens, let us have confidence in God 
and await events without either apprehension or 
disdain. 

From the lines I went over yesterday and this 
morning one has an admirable view of the plain of 
Alsace, which starts at the base of the last slopes we 
occupy and stretches out of sight until it mingles 
with the grey of the sky. It is entirely grey itself 
and entirely soaked with water. At night one can 
see quite well the twinkling of the thousand lights of 
Mulhausen, and farther off those of Basle. But 
the shortened perspective and the obscurity make 
these lights appear quite near. The punishment of 
Tantalus ! 

But when one must advance, one discovers that it 
is hard to do so, and that to capture a little bit of this 
country, so stubbornly contested, has already been 
costly. 

The 11th Battalion wished to make the acquaintance 
of the Vieil Armand, Now we are there ! . . . 



356 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

December 27. 

My dear Maxime, — 

I should have liked to have replied in detail to each 
of your letters and to have thanked you for every one 
on receiving them. But for several days past our time 
has not been our own, and circumstances have left us 
little leisure. 

Yes, I thank you with all my heart; and you 
cannot imagine the good your letters have done me. 
We have exchanged ideas with each other so 
seldom. . . . 

It is quite true that among brothers in families like 
ours, in which spirituality implies a deep unity of 
thought, intimacy exists, unconscious, even invol- 
untary, without it being necessary to express it often. 
But, as you say, friendship is one of the great bless- 
ings and great aids of this world. Life is not so long 
nor so perfect that we can disdain the good it offers. 
Friendship is an elective form of charity, of that most 
evangelical virtue the whole code of which is in the 
precept, "Love one another." Goodness, charity, 
affection, friendship, even love, if we agree to free 
this word from the narrow sense in which it is often 
imprisoned — all spring from the same source. To 
seek for this source in ourselves would be wrong: 
it is in grace, it is supernatural. Everything comes to 
us from elsewhere; and in everything, in whatsoever 
we experience, we must search for that origin which 
also fixes our goal. 

"We come, not out of nothingness (our bones and 
our flesh alone are drawn from that), but from God. 



THE LAST STAGE 357 

Our soul is an infinitesimal part of His divinity. That 
which illumines it is the reflection of His perfection, 
and that which makes it vibrate is the gift of grace. 
The whole secret consists in knowing how to obey that 
voice, that discreet voice, but one ever ready to reply 
to us. 

This appears very simple, and it should be. 

We alone obscure our field by our modes of think- 
ing and feeling — ^modes too personal and consequently 
bad. 

Claude Bernard said: *'If I knew one thing thor- 
oughly, I should know everything." This maxim 
should be pondered over by all men of science, 
who readily believe they have conquered ignorance, 
whereas they are limited on all sides. But above 
this mechanism of the intelligence, of which science 
is the gymnastics, there is a feeling which is no 
more explainable than it is indisputable, or unde- 
niable; there is faith; and it seems to me that we 
might borrow Claude Bernard's formula and trans- 
pose it thus: "If I believed one truth thoroughly, I 
should believe them all." For we must not claim to 
know : however far our knowledge may extend, it will 
ever be powerless to solve the only problems 
which are put, finally. The heart must soar 
above the intelligence and throw itself at the feet 
of faith, which beckons to it to come. He who 
has performed, a single minute of his life, an act of 
sincere faith, or who has offered up a fervent 
prayer, has attained greater truth than the most la- 
borious genius. The faith of the charcoal-burner 
raises higher than the intuition of the greatest men of 
learning. 



358 A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

Very often the manner in which, men judge and 
think may cause them to be mistaken as to the path 
of truth; the reason being that men are prone to 
error, and one can only ask them to be conscious they 
are ignorant. All we see in this world are appear- 
ances, forms and isolated effects; we cannot conclude 
anything from them. If the world caresses and 
flatters this or that person because he is intelligent, 
eloquent, rich or benevolent, we must not conclude 
he is a model of perfection to be imitated. The 
most perfect, most virtuous of men is perhaps the 
most obscure, most unknown, from his birth to his 
death. 

But, in that case, where can we seek for the counsels, 
rules and discipline of which we feel the need? To 
whom can we go for the solution of the problems put 
for each of us? First of all to God, since He has 
the kindness to wish it ; and, among ourselves, to those 
who wish for our good because they are God's dele- 
gates; to those, especially, who love us, because, to 
do good to any one, one must first of all and above all 
love him. 

It was Pere Gratry, I believe, who said: *'To love 
is to desire the good of another." What a beautiful 
definition of friendship ! 

But I know not what I am writing to you ; rather do 
I believe that, pen in hand, I am thinking with you. 
This is indeed a conversation, but at a great dis- 
tance. 

We are still surrounded by the thunder of the 
guns on the lower slopes of the Hartman, almost 
on the threshold of the bluish, rain-sodden plain 
of Alsace, which stretches as far as the hazy line 



THE LAST STAGE 359 

of the Black Forest. The Boches are bombarding 
furiously; our guns are replying. No attack yet 
to-day. 

Au revoir! I charge you to embrace every- 
body at home as I embrace you with fraternal 
tenderness. 



THE END 



EPILOGUE 



EPILOGUE 

Letters from Lieutenant Verdant 

. . . With deep regret and heart-felt sorrow I carry 
out the painful duty entrusted to me by your son, 
M. Ferdinand Belmont, my captain. 

During the engagement of December 28 last, at 
4 a.m., your son, with a few agents de liaison and 
myself, surprised by a violent bombardment, was 
crouching under a shelter when a wretched shell- 
splinter struck my unfortunate captain on the right 
arm. 

Immediately, with a courage worthy of the highest 
praise, he saw that he was fatally wounded. His arm 
was almost severed above the elbow. 

It was then, with admirable coolness, that he 
charged me with the painful mission of informing you 
of the fresh misfortune which was to afflict his dear 
parents, already so tried by the war. 

He charged me to tell you, sir, that his last thought 
was for his parents, that he regretted the sorrow his 
death would cause them, but that he was happy to 
have accomplished his duty to the end. 

He was a brave and loyal fellow, much liked by 
his chiefs and especially by his subordinates. The 
officers and men of his company had a veritable 

363 



364: A CRUSADER OF FRANCE 

veneration for him. To his company and to myself, 
to whom he passed the command, this loss is 
irreparable. 

Extract from a letter written hy tJie Bev. Father 
Jamin, Military Chaplain 

I learnt that Ferdinand died from hsemorrhage and 
retained consciousness until the end, arousing every 
one's admiration by his quiet courage and perfect 
resignation to the divine will. 

"The last breath of heroes becomes the immortal 
breath of the country." 

(Deroulede.) 



MENTIONS IN ARMY ORDERS 
First Mention 

July 6, 1915. 

A doctor by profession, asked to fight in the ranks. 
Promoted to captaincy, has never ceased since the 
beginning of hostilities to give proof of the finest 
qualities of bravery, activity, coolness, and au- 
thority over his men ; notably in the last engagements, 
when, at a single bound, and under a violent and 
incessant bombardment, he captured two lines of 
enemy trenches. 



Second Mention 



Octoher 12, 1915. 



A doctor by profession, asked for employment as 
combatant-officer. Excellent company commander, 
brave and energetic. Entrusted on August 18, 1915, 
with the command of two attacking companies, he 
launched them to the attack with superb dash and 
in superb order. Already mentioned in army orders. 
Wounded once. 

365 



366 A CEUSADBR OF FRANCE 

Third Mention 

February 5, 1916. 

A doctor by profession, asked to serve with the 
troops on active service. An excellent company com- 
mander and trainer of men, gave proof in all engage- 
ments of the finest bravery and of a very high sense 
of his duties as a leader. Seriously wounded on 
December 28, 1915, in the course of a violent bom- 
bardment, underwent the amputation of arm and died 
the next day.^ 

1 Incorrect. Died the same evening befere the arm was 
amputated. 



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